


Bad For Business

by wandertogondor



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Asshole Tommy Shelby, Cultural References, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Resilience, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gang Violence, Italian Character(s), Italian Mafia, Jealousy, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Motherhood, Partner Betrayal, Period-Typical Sexism, Romance, Strong Female Characters, Suffering, Tommy Shelby & Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Tommy Shelby Needs a Hug, Tommy Shelby/Original Character(s)Navigation and Actions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:07:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 59,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28021407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandertogondor/pseuds/wandertogondor
Summary: When Lucia Changretta heard her brother was going to Tommy Shelby's wedding with Lizzie Stark, she decided to go straight to the Shelby Mansion and put a stop to it. She had hoped to walk the line between loving Tommy and staying loyal to the Changretta's but loving a Shelby had always been bad for business. [Tommy/OC].
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 72





	1. The Filly

**Author's Note:**

> This story is dedicated to all the women in abusive families, relationships, and cultures. You have the courage to disappoint your families to become your true self. The journey is difficult, debilitating, and dangerous, but we deserve to live a life that isn't founded on fear, sacrifice, and obligation.

Lucia wasn't happy when she heard the little Irish rat had given Thomas Shelby a son. She was even more unhappy when news of a wedding was to happen. So, when her brother Angel said he was in love with Lizzie Stark and that they would go to the wedding together, Lucia's unhappiness peaked. She wouldn't allow it. The first generation Sicilian decided that she would have a word with Tommy to settle things.

Besides, her heart ached for him. Even after all this time she still loved him.

It was Polly who had fostered a deal with Vicente Changretta and the Birmingham Italians during the war. When Arthur, Tommy, and John came back from France and found the Peaky Blinders thriving above all the other Birmingham families, they all walked with their heads held higher than the rest of the poor bastards that came back to the dirty streets of Birmingham.

Now, Tommy's home was large and his property was vast. It was the greenest thing Lucia had ever seen. She couldn't help but scoff bitterly. If she was born Romani, it could have all been hers. If she was born Irish, it could have all been hers. But Lucia was born Scicilian and Tommy himself had said it would be "bad for business." With his words pressed in her mind, Lucia hesitantly stepped up to the front door under the towering portico.

She was suddenly nervous to see him again. More so, she was nervous to come face to face with the blonde Irish traditrice Tommy was set on marrying. Thankfully it was one of the many maids that answered the door and directed her to the expensive furnishings before Thomas Shelby could make time for her. Though she made attempts to live a godly life as the good Catholic girl she had been raised to be, Lucia could no longer suppress the powerful wave of jealousy that flooded up in her chest. From where she sat she could clearly spot the portrait above the grand staircase which depicted Tommy, the Irish woman, and their son between them. As she was transfixed by the portrait, the Irish woman came down the stairs and their eyes met. Grace's blonde hair was effortlessly coiffed and she, rosy and angelic, glided towards Lucia with curiosity in her eyes.

"Are you waiting to see Mr. Shelby?" the mistress of the house inquired.

"I am," Lucia answered softly, fighting desperately to suppress the tears welling up in her brown eyes. She nearly gave her emotions away before regaining her composure quickly after.

Grace looked the visitor up and down, briefly wondering if it was one of Arthur's many whores coming to cash in the large sum of money the Shelby's possessed. "I'm afraid he's busy. We're planning a wedding."

The curtness in the future Mrs. Shelby's voice angered Lucia but her Sicilian father had taught her better than to show it. "I'm an old friend here on business," Lucia Changretta squared her shoulders and stated plainly, "and you of all people should know Tommy puts business first."

Grace's green eyes narrowed on Lucia but the tension broke when Arthur opened the door to the office and cocked his head to the side, gesturing the guest into the room. Lucia, feigning civility, forced a small smile at Grace and began in through the door. Remembering her anxiety to see Tommy, Lucia, in a wild panic, threw her gaze along the paneled walls while her heart leapt at the sight of Tommy, standing formidably behind his desk. The light streaming in through the window behind him darkened his features.

"John. Arthur." Lucia, who had frozen mere steps past the door, nodded familiarly to both Shelby brothers before directing her eyes to Tommy. "We need to talk."

Without a word, Tommy Shelby sat down and made a gesture to the empty chair across his desk beside Arthur. She was familiar with his silence - it was expected. It took her very little time to recognize it as a willing response. Lucia walked up to his desk, ignoring the seat Arthur had pulled out for her in his gentlemanly way, and got directly to business.

"My brother, Angel, ain't going to your wedding with that Lizzie Stark girl. I won't allow it."

Tommy leaned forward in his grand leather chair, folded his hands over important documents, and looked up at her with empty eyes. "Then we're in agreement."

Not in the least bit surprised at his lackadaisical attitude, Lucia abruptly sat down, crossed one leg over the other, and lit a cigarette. It wasn't in her nature to ask permission. Tommy knew this. "Invite me instead."

A raucous cacophony of snorts and chuckles flew in the air between John and Arthur. Even Tommy cracked a smile.

John clapped his hand on her shoulder familiarly. "You havin' a laugh, Luc?"

Red-faced in embarrassment, Lucia charged on, smashing her cigarette into the ashtray which sat on the desk, "look at you Shelby boys in your posh house and flashy cars. Conveniently forgetting where you're from and who fed and clothed you when you were hungry and shoeless. Back when you were biscuit-arsed lads running through the streets." Her words caught in her throat, perhaps due to shame because she had been no better back then either. And now she wasn't living in a splendid house bathed in a sea of perfectly manicured green grass. "Aye, you don't owe us nothin', but have some forethought," she spoke directly to Tommy now, her dark eyes pleading with him to understand, "have some wisdom. If you don't keep up appearances with the Brummie families, you know damned well an uprising will start."

"And we'll pound 'em back down," John leaned down to sneer into her ear. "'Cause we're the Peaky fuckin' Blinders."

Lucia slowly turned toward him with a formidable glare. "You're nothing without us. The Blinders can't face Sabini by yourself let alone the Brummegen Boys and the Sloggers when they inevitably decide to stamp you out! You boys have gotten too cocky and you've forgotten the streets that made you."

Tommy finally spoke, easing himself into the tension that settled between the four of them. "We've checked his background. Your brother has had five different names in the last six years and he's got connections with Sabini. Did you know that? You're just as dangerous by association. Why would I let you come to my fuckin' wedding?"

Under the numbing scrutiny of Thomas Shelby's gaze, Lucia nearly laughed. There was nothing behind those eyes anymore. No kindness, no gentleness. It was just...empty. A beautiful, empty piercing blue canvas. She felt homesick for the man he used to be. "You know I left the family business a very long time ago."

"And yet here you are speaking on behalf of the Changretta's. Family," Tommy emphasised, "is not something you walk away from."

I wanted to be a part of your family, Lucia wanted to shout. All she could disdainfully mutter was, "the idiot's are in love, Angel and Lizzie."

"I don't care."

"He will insist on coming."

"We will make sure he won't. That, I assure you."

She was all out of responses. She wanted him to stop looking at her. She needed him to stop looking at her or she'd burst into tears. Lucia nodded without protest. There was no convincing Tommy Shelby when his mind was made up. She'd know that since she was a girl. Standing in defeat, she held her head high to feign a smile, "congratulations are in order. There's a wedding gift for you in the stables."

"Is it from your family or from you?"

Her eyes narrowed on him and didn't answer. He was trying to implicate her. Easing back on her heels, Lucia walked away from Tommy, out of his large house, past his perfect lawn, and began the long walk back to Birmingham.

The journey to the Shelby mansion had been quick on the back of a chestnut Anglo-Arabian filly. With a gleaming coat, balance, and excellent muscle definition, any fool could see how beautiful a mover she was. Lucia knew Tommy would be pleased when he saw her in the stables. A smile pulled at the corners of Lucia's lips imagining his surprise at the sight of that sweet filly. She was a polite thing and calm to boot. After months spent finagling with a dealer in France for much too much money, a small part of Lucia hoped it would be enough to win Tommy back. She laughed pathetically at this notion, knowing she'd come too late. It was too late the moment he had had a child with that Grace woman.

Lucia remembered the night Tommy came to her in the canals near Charlie's Yard. She was sitting along the river, feet dangling down nearer the uncertain depths. She wondered what would happen if she fell inside. Who would save her? And then Tommy fuckin' Shelby sauntered beside her, took a drag off his cigarette, and held it down to her. Suave as all hell, he was.

"She's gone," he had said with empty eyes dragging across the darkened Birmingham woods.

Lucia pulled a long drag from the cigarette, hoping the warmth would flow down to her cold chest. "The Irish girl?"

"Aye." He pinched the cigarette from her fingers and finished it off, throwing it down into the water with finality.

Lucia stared out before them to soak in the broken glints of moonlight on the Cut. "What'll you do now?"

"Well," Tommy began, "I was hopin' you'd ask me to come home with you."

Lucia laughed in disbelief. "So you can be inside of me but think of her? You havin' a go at me, Tommy?"

But she had taken him to her small flat anyway. Walking hand in hand, Lucia and Tommy navigated through the streets they played on together as children. They slipped from shadow to shadow, using the darken alleys to sneak small kisses and to press their bodies closer together with longing. With Tommy Shelby, there really was no reason to sneak around Small Heath. Nobody would dare say a word if they saw Vincente Changretta's daughter stealing around with a Shelby.

But there was an exciting feeling of indecency that welled in Lucia's chest from it all.

Unvirtuous. Wanton. Salacious. Those were just some of the many things Lucia wanted him to growl into her ear.

He would always touch her like a man dying of thirst. A coy smile would always pull on his lips when he'd reach down to graze his fingertips along the soft inside of her thigh. Lucia would breathe deep - desperate to steady herself under Thomas Shelby's blue eyes, but her excitement was always too obvious with him.

"Do you like that?" Tommy would ask. His voice would be slow and deep, just as deliberate as his fingers which were steadily gliding further up between her legs. Lucia knew he could feel the warmth. He loved to tease her - loved to ask questions he already knew the answers to. "Tell me," he'd say as he coaxed her head back, pressing his lips along the sensitive spot on her neck and gently licking her ear.

Lucia would be reeling on the inside, full of lust and passion and desperation to feel him. That was her favorite part. The tightness, the pressure, and the inevitable give as he slides inside her. "Please," was how she would plead. Her eyebrows would furrow slightly and her lips would form a small pout; she was always impatient when it came to Tommy Shelby and it always made him laugh. He would take a moment to kiss her nose and then her lips. He would wrap his fingers around throat, gentle at first with the smallest pressure to keep her steady, and he would rock his hips back and forth against her. It was always enough to forget she was cross from his teasing.

Lucia was nearly lost in her memories when the sound of galloping hooves rumbled behind her. She turned to see Tommy aback a black warmblood - a prized horse retired to the Shelby stables. Tommy reined the warmblood to a stop beside her and dismounted with all the poise and deliberacy of a man with something to say. There was a smile tugging at his lips, likely from the sight of the filly, but he tried, and failed, to hide his pleasure at her wedding gift.

"Did you like her?" Lucia spoke first to break the silence.

Tommy looked away, the smile giving way to the corners of his lips. "She's beautiful."

"Aye, she'll be good for the races if you train her properly." She swept her arm out toward his large property, "goodness knows you can afford it."

Another silence fell in the space between Lucia and Tommy. A flush spread across her cheeks from her previous memories of them together intimately. It seemed as though, now that they were alone, that longing and tension returned. Tommy looked her up and down in a much different light than his future wife had earlier. He let his gaze linger on her dark eyes then down to her sharp nose, on which he remembered planting many small kisses to make her smile, her lips, plump and pink, and then finally the soft throat she would beg for him to wrap his fingers around. Lucia, having followed his eyes, was looking for anything else which would help ground herself under his pointed study.

"I know what you have to do," she finally remembered he was about to be a married man, "but please don't hurt Angel."

Tommy put his hands into his pockets before looking up and down the road they stood on, "we'll try to reason. If that doesn't work, you know what we'll do."

"Don't rough him up, Tom, he -"

Tommy Shelby put a hand up to stop her mid-sentence. "This is the life you were born into, Lucia. And this life is the one I was made for. There are no exceptions."

"Not even for me?" Lucia meekly entreated in a last ditch effort. Angel was her little brother after all. It had only been the two of them since Luca was sent to America to escape the law and explore the money to be made in alcohol in New York. Lucia knew how headstrong, foolish, and lovesick Angel was. She wasn't happy about him choosing Lizzie Stark, but Tommy had been right earlier … family was not something you could just walk away from. So she had to try her best.

Much to her surprise, Tommy shifted closer to her and gently cupped her face in his hands. His breath fanned across her face and a sharp pang of lust erupted in her chest when his thumbs caressed the sensitive spots on her neck - just as he used to. Lucia was never good at fighting the pleasure she felt with Thomas Shelby. Involuntarily, her eyes fluttered shut and she cocked her head to the side to reveal the supple areas of her neck for Tommy to explore.

Tommy Shelby and Lucia Changretta stood in the middle of the lane alone, out of the view of the house where the future Mrs. Shelby was making wedding preparations. It wasn't the dirty shadows of Birmingham's alleyways anymore. Tempted to continue simulating the sensitive spots on her neck, Tommy hoped to elicit a moan from between her lips. He remembered her hot breath in his ear and her arms wrapped around him. For all those years she had fit so perfectly against him. And now, he found it was still true. He couldn't forget how passionately and desperately she wanted him. And he couldn't forget how miserable and disheartened he had been without her.

A long moment passed before Lucia opened her eyes to meet Tommy's gaze. With the saddest smile, Lucia wrapped her fingers around his wrists and brought his hands down. She had hoped it was enough to give him some assurance. "I do still love you, Tommy. It's a shame we'd be bad for business."


	2. Bargaining

Weeks after Tommy's wedding, John and Arthur stopped by Lucia's home. Their well-tailored suits were a stark contrast to her dull flat with sparse furnishings. She had left the family business in name only and still received a hefty sum of money from Vincente and Audrey Changretta. But Lucia was less inclined to horde the cash for herself. A large sum was saved up for the filly, which proved to be a pathetic and failed attempt at garnering favor from Tommy, and the rest was distributed between the Italian families still mourning the deaths of their fathers, husbands, brothers, and sons during the Great War. Vincente had long cared for those who were a part of his community, and his daughter did the same.

Lucia peered curiously over the steam which rose from her mug over at Arthur and John. They were taking their time, well at ease, sipping the warm tea they were given. A comfortable silence settled in the small flat. The Shelby's had been her childhood friends, but they felt more like strangers now.

Arthur finally broke the silence once he had reached the bottom of his cup. "Tommy would like to personally invite you to the Shelby Foundation charity dinner. You would be representing the Birmingham families. He hoped it would be a compromise for not attending the wedding."

"Ah yes," Lucia drawled sardonically, "that's a sufficient compromise for burning down my brother's restaurant to keep him from attending."

All warm feelings of welcoming the Shelby's into her home as friends had disappeared at the sight of John's fierce face. "We could have beat him to a pulp," his voice was cold.

Arthur continued in a gentler tone, "Tommy also wanted you to come with us to speak with the Changretta's. You'd be a kind of insurance."

Lucia understood. She was going to be a glorified hostage.

They led her out to a beautifully polished Bentley. Again, it was a stark contrast to the dirty streets of Birmingham. Lucia admired the furbishing with awe, tenderly placing her hand on the seats and the door handle. It was luxurious. She slid into the backseat and the car lurched forward. Lucia wanted to ask about the wedding, but she knew it would only hurt her heart more to have her curiosity assuaged.

In a few moments, the car came to a stop in front of a row of wagons with a table directly in the center. It was covered with a white tablecloth with fine china neatly arranged on top. Finn and Isaiah were already there, cigarettes pursed between their lips, along with other button men whose loyalties belonged to the Peaky Blinders. Instructed to wait inside the car, Lucia watched John sit on one side of the table and Arthur post himself close behind.

She watched as her father, with his two chosen men, approached the table and stood across from John. After exchanging words that she couldn't quite hear, Arthur turned on his heel and gestured for her to exit the car. Lucia would never forget the despair on her father's face when she stepped out of the black Bentley.

"Papà," she greeted him with a weak smile and stood beside Arthur as he indicated.

"We have your daughter as assurance you won't do anything stupid," John absently stated to Vincente Changretta. "Now what do you want?"

Looking between his daughter and the two Shelby brothers seated before him, Vincente slowly began, "there has been a peace between the Peaky Blinders and the Changretta family for two years now -"

John rudely interrupted, "Do you want some tea or not? Here, Finn, pour the Italian some English tea, come on."

Lucia grit her teeth at the blatant disrespect. "He doesn't want fuckin' tea," she nearly barked, glaring Finn down as he stumbled back like the little puppy he still was. Her arms cross tightly against her chest, trying to bite her tongue before she spoke more out of anger.

"Lucia, be silent," her father's voice was calmer when he spoke to her in his native tongue. He gave his daughter a comforting look, understanding her frustration, before turning his attention back to the Shelby's. "We want an explanation."

"An explanation for what?" was John's bemused response, clearly proud to have gotten such a strong emotional reaction from her if not her father.

"The Little Venice Restaurant on Forge Street was burnt down -"

Again, John interrupted, "Nah, nah. Couldn't have been us. We was at a wedding."

"Prig," Lucia muttered loud enough under her breath for John to hear. It only heightened his amusement. "Papà," she spoke up, "I asked them to keep Angel from attending. I didn't know they would burn down Little Venice. It wasn't right for Angel to come. Not with that woman."

The look in her father's eyes suddenly shifted. She had gone against the family. She had gone to their enemies against the family. That was unacceptable. The disappointment and betrayal on Vincente Changretta's face was painfully visible to Lucia. "You tell Tommy that my son will walk with any woman in this city. Any woman he chooses! Even if that woman works for the emperor, Thomas Shelby."

"Papà," Lucia pleaded with him in their language to avoid the embarrassment of begging in front of Arthur and John. "Papà, your son is a fool and I would not bring shame to our family by allowing him to go with that whore."

Vincente Changretta ignored his daughter's words. He didn't even acknowledge her anymore. She was dead to him for her betrayal to their family. She had cast her lot with the Shelby's. "My son is in love -"

John snorted loudly. It was the same incredulous sound he used on her weeks ago when she asked to be invited to the wedding in Angel's place. John made a show of stifling his laugh before waving his hand, "do carry on."

"If he wishes, my son will walk with the woman he loves."

"Okay," John ceded. Lucia hoped he would use some foresight and tact before he spoke to maintain relations with the Changretta family, but he didn't. "You know, it would be hard for your son to walk anywhere with a bullet in each knee, wouldn't it?"

"Oh, _stupido figlio di puttana_!" Lucia threw up her hands and took a few steps back from the table as if to wash her hands of the whole conversation. _You stupid son of a bitch!_ Even Arthur paused at the implication John brought to life. It was a threat. A threat that could lead to a war.

Vincente Changretta's face hardened. "Too much," he pointed a gloved finger down at John. "You said too much, my friend. Sabini says, 'Suck and swallow.' But no! Too much." He didn't bother looking one last time at his daughter before walking away, flanked by his men.

Arthur threw Lucia a worried glance. They knew the dangers even if John did not. She hurried after Arthur as he stalked away, leaving John to sit with the mess he dragged them all into.

"What will you do?" Lucia pulled him to a stop once they were far enough away. "Arthur?"

The uneasiness was written plainly on his face. "Polly will have to handle it. She'll make John apologize."

It was Lucia's turn to turn her nose up at the notion. "John? Apologize?" She nearly snorted. "That'll be the day. After the pathetic display he put up just now?!"

"He has to," Arthur furrowed his brows and placed a comforting hand on her arm. "Or there'll be a rebellion on our hands. One we can't handle."

Lucia slapped his hand away with distaste. "Like I fuckin' told you lot weeks ago!" She took a moment to resettle herself before looking up at Arthur again. "This Lizzie Stark girl. Tell Polly that Lizzie Stark ends things with Angel and ends it herself. Yeah? You hearin' me, Arthur?"

He hesitated. "Polly will figure it out. Go back home, Luc. It'll all be settled. John'll apologize."

On her long, cold, and lonely walk back to her flat, Lucia doubted every word Arthur had said. Angel wasn't rational. He would find out about the threat and he would tell all of Nechells that John Shelby's head was his to take. Now, Lucia had no family and no prospects. She thought of joining her older brother, Luca, in New York. But Luca would not accept her either. She had gone against the family. She'd be lucky if she wasn't dead by morning.

Lucia was all alone.

* * *

It was well past midnight when Tommy Shelby came around. Lucia had already packed most of her things into a ragged trunk. Not long after she had left the Shelby brothers earlier that day, John had tracked Angel to a laundromat and had beaten him to a bloody pulp. So, Lucia was leaving. She would go to Scotland or Wales or Corfu. Wherever she could live her life alone in peace.

Tommy leaned against the door jamb with a cigarette dangling from his lips, following her erratic back and forth through the flat. "And where you off to?"

Lucia gave him a dirty look and continued packing. Once he finished off his cigarette, Tommy casually walked to the window to toss the butt out and used the opportunity to glance cautiously down at the street to make sure he hadn't been followed.

Lucia didn't care what she left in the flat, she would take the bare essentials and her leftover money. She would tend bar somewhere and trick another handsome mobster to fall in love with her. After all, it had worked beautifully for a _traditrice_ like Grace. _Traitor_.

Lucia leaned over her bed shoving clothes into her trunk. Remembering her parcel of money, she spun on her heels just to walk into Tommy's chest. The sudden closeness of his presence was like a freight train hitting her at full speed. The smell of his rich cologne, the cigarette smoke, the whiskey wafted into her face. Beneath it all was just the comfortable smell of him. She'd certainly miss that while lounging on sandy beaches. Tommy shifted even closer to her, using his hand to tilt her head up so he could search her dark eyes. All he saw was doubt.

She tilted her head away from his scrutiny and slid past. "You're a married man, Tom. You should be with your wife and your son. Your family."

"And you should be with yours."

"Oh, haven't you heard? I have no family thanks to your brother's arrogance."

Tommy reached out to take hold of her arm, wheeling her back towards him. "John did what he had to do. It's not personal -"

"It's just business." Lucia violently pulled her arm out of his grip. "I've been part of this world since I was born, Tommy. And I know when my head is on the chopping block. I also know that what John did was just as you wanted." She prodded her finger up towards his face accusingly. "Who are you coming head to head with now that Polly put a bullet into Campbell? Huh, Tom? Sabini? Solomons? The IRA? Are you up against King George himself, for fucks sake? Who are you trying to impress with your power?"

Tommy shrugged. While she looked up at him with ferocity in her eyes, he returned her gaze with a bored and lackluster expression.

"Who is it?" She asked again. "You're not sentimental; you haven't come all the way here to say goodbye. Who are you hiding from?" Lucia fished through her pockets for a cigarette. "You're unreal, Tommy. If you're not hiding out, please leave. I'm leaving tonight and I'd rather you not be the last person I see."

Instead of leaving as she had requested, Tommy lit his own cigarette and settled into the nearest chair. He wasn't going to tell her how he'd been pulled into the web of the Russians, flanked by the Economic League, and tasked with supplying weapons of war to Soviet Georgia. Explaining it all to her would be both dangerous and laughable. She was so close to being out. Lucia wasn't one to vie for power with international agents.

Lucia angrily finished packing, casting sidelong glares at Tommy, muttering as she did so. " _Sarai morto entro Natale. Soffoca le tue sigarette, coglione_." _You'll be dead before Christmas..._

All Tommy understood was: _Choke on your cigarettes, you prick_. He had heard it furiously spill from her lips many times growing up.

Taking one last pull conveniently without choking, he spoke up. "I asked you to come to the Shelby Foundation charity dinner."

Lucia lolled her head to the side in indignation from where she stood with her back to him. She turned. "Oh, I see," a mocking smile curled at the corners of her mouth, "you need me there so you look good to in the Birmingham families."

Her words were drowning in so much bitterness Tommy couldn't help but laugh.

"Don't you ever get tired of wanting more, Tommy? More money, more power. When will it end?"

"Never. This will never end," was his chilling response.

Tommy had been right all those years ago, Lucia mused in the gathering silence. They wouldn't have been good for business. He had enough ambition for the both of them. Nobody in Birmingham could stand against him. He tore down fathers and brothers and families - as was done to her.

"You were right," she tossed what was left of her cigarette out the window as he had done. Lucia focused her eyes on him. Under the swell of sadness and longing in her chest there was a peculiar rankle of pride. "How lucky I am to have known you. What a man you've become."

She came beside his chair to place a warm hand on his face and Tommy, nearly instinctively, turned into her hand so her thumb rested gently under his tired eyes. Her lips formed a perfect pout.

"Poor Tommy Shelby," she lamented, "you've brought the whole world down on your shoulders." And he's come to her to hide away from it all - even if it was just a moment. "I've known you for a very long time. Loved you for most of it. And I spent so much time trying to convince you to love me too. But," Lucia's voice wavered into the space between them. The hand which lovingly rested on his face dropped to her side.

Deep down Tommy didn't want her hand to fall. It was familiar, comforting even. It was what he needed. He pressed, "But?"

"But…I don't like you. You were right all along." It was her turn to shrug absently. 

Whether it was a blow to his ego or to his heart, Tommy couldn't say. It certainly wasn't the first time a woman had voiced displeasure of him. Lucia wasn't them, he rationalized. Lucia was different. But as he watched her set the ragged suitcase neatly by the door, a selfish thing inside him was unearthed.

His lips paused on the sentence, but the selfish thing pressed forward. "I've loved you ever since you caught a stray bullet by the Brummegen Boys."

Lucia cocked her head to the side to refresh her memories. " _Non insultarmi_ , Tommy," she dismissed him with an incredulous, nervous laugh. _Don't insult me._

"It's true," Tommy insisted, taking her hands in his and drawing her in before she moved too far away. His blue eyes were wide with sincerity. "You were sitting by the Cut, and you -"

"I remember." The Sicilian made a weak attempt to pry her hands back to her sides, clearly confused by his sudden shift in character and hesitant to revisit those past memories. Lucia didn't believe him. Not entirely. But it was only after she caught her first bullet that she and Tommy would meet often by the Cut to share a cigarette and exchange shy smiles. It was when he was a better man.

Sharp waves of desire flooding in her chest and Lucia was even more desperate to escape Tommy's presence. But he stood. His fingers grazed up her arm, brushed past her collarbone, and rested on the curves of her pink lips.

"Tommy," Lucia, caught up in the sensations, tried to warn in a whisper. "Please…"

Tommy Shelby grinned. A shadow of lust and wickedness darkened his face. He leaned in close enough that, if Lucia pleaded again, her lips would meet his. "You don't want me anymore?" He snaked an arm around her waist, pressing their bodies flush against one another. The beating heart nestled within Lucia's chest drummed on faster, and the hairs all over her body stood on end. She hoped his hand would brush between her legs, against her skin, until they were together again.

"I do," Lucia couldn't lie. Her body longed for him. He was married and this had to be a bloody trick. "I'm just tired. It's well into the night, Tom."

Though he could see the hunger in her eyes and felt the way her body swayed closer to him, Tommy did as she asked. Lucia smoothed her skirts down and quietly, careful not to make eye contact, said she would get ready for bed.

"So, you'll stay for the Shelby Foundation Dinner?"

Lucia nodded.

After glancing out the window down the streets one last time, Tommy pulled a chair beside the bed where Lucia slept. One hand rested by his gun and the other he used to absently stroke her hair. He hadn't lied his arse off earlier. Not completely. It was true that even now a large part of his heart loved her. It was a different kind of love than Grace. And it was a different kind of love than poor Greta Jurossi. Tommy looked down at Lucia's face, rosy in the illuminated light of the dimming fire. He loved her in the same way he loved himself. She was a part of his whole. A person so unlike himself but in the same breath so similar. The unfortunate thing about being a part of Tommy was he found it easy to despise the parts of himself he recognized in others - his fears, his weaknesses, his own heart.

He remembered the first time Lucia had gotten caught up in a shoot-out between the Changretta's and Brummegen Boys. He found her alone by the Cut nursing her wound - picking at the bullet. If he had had whiskey she would have reached the bottom within minutes. It was after his mother died, and Tommy was determined not to lose Lucia too.

"Let me help you," Tommy had insisted as he sat beside her.

Lucia hadn't responded. She continued probing at the wound with the soft pads of her fingers then reached into his pocket to swipe the knife he kept.

"You're going to get an infection. Let me take you to Polly."

She had waved him off with a dismissive grunt. She's a stubborn one, Tommy had thought to himself. He could tell how much it hurt. Her lips quivered as she sliced the swollen skin around the wound open with the knife, using her blood-crusted fingers to ease the tiny ricocheted bullet out. It was the size of a pea.

"Fuckin' 'ell," she finally let out a deep breath in relief, dropped the bullet into his palm, and flashed him a toothy grin. It was enough for any man to fall in love, and Tommy was no exception.

Tommy wished he had kept track of that little bullet which he had palmed into his pocket all those years ago. But the war and brown opium had clouded his memory. All he remembered now was the fierce look of determination in Lucia's eyes when she gouged the bullet out from the swollen, bloody wound. She was something else.

Thomas Shelby continued stroking Lucia's hair as she slept. He decided to put her up with Ada for a few days, give her enough money for a dress and a trip to anywhere, and then he could live the rest of his life in peace knowing they parted on his terms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! My intention for this chapter is to show how culture, family obligation, and the emphasis on loyalty, trust, and honor are often used to gaslight women into adhering to the roles expected of them - like how Vincente immediately dismissed Lucia's actions as betrayal of the greatest kind. 
> 
> At its core this is a story of love and hope to all the women in oppressive cultures and emotionally abusive families who are mustering up the courage to escape and endure. We are strong, and we are worthy to live a life on our own terms <3


	3. The Shelby Foundation Charity

It was Arthur who had first approached her as Lucia awkwardly stood along the walls during the Shelby Foundation charity event. He maneuvered an expensive glass full of expensive wine into her grateful hands. Any respite from this dull affair would do for her. Lucia was trying her damndest not to swallow it all in one go.

As long as she was there she hadn’t been able to get enough of the bright chandeliers, floral arrangements, and the beautiful gowns draped over the soft shoulders of rich women. It was a whole new world. She was in awe of it all but felt painfully out of place. But, with Arthur standing there beside her, the muscles in her shoulders relaxed and she could ignore the intimidating people swaying like film characters before her - untouchable, powerful, and omnipotent.

“Thank you for visiting me,” she spoke up to Arthur who had been grinning like mad to himself. “You alright?”

A smile was always a foreign thing to spot on the face of a Peaky Blinder.

“I’ve got some news.”

Lucia’s heart leapt. Could it be a message from Tommy? Was it an invitation to leave? For fuck’s sake, she hoped so.

Arthur wrapped his arm around her shoulder then leaned in close, “My Linda is up the swanny. I’m gonna be a fuckin’ dad.” Joy brightened his face.

“Arthur Shelby,” Lucia mirrored his smile and patted his chest approvingly. “Arthur Shelby a dad! I’ll light a candle for your poor Linda though. Your mum told me horror stories of your birth. I reckon your sprog will put Linda through hell on the way out too.”

“We’ve got a ways to go yet,” Arthur beamed. “Due in September, she is.”

“I am very happy for you, Arthur,” Lucia gave him another pat on his chest happily. “Do you know when I’m allowed to leave?”

He flagged down a waiter to hand her another glass of wine. “Not enjoying yourself?”

“I feel like I don’t belong.” What she really meant was that she was back to being a mud-caked little girl stepping into a posh glass house. Rubbing shoulders with socialites was as far from comfort as Lucia could wildly imagine. But the intention of her invitation was to assuage the growing rift between the Shelby’s and the Birmingham families. She had to stay put.

Instead of sipping on champagne, Lucia should have been sitting beside Angel’s hospital bed. Instead of adjusting her silk gown, she should have been packing her meager clothes into her suitcase. And instead of searching the grand hall for a glimpse of Tommy Shelby, Lucia Changretta should have been getting as far away from him as possible.

Once she was standing alone again, Lucia braved herself to cross the room to where Polly and Ada stood together. She hailed down another glass of wine - liquid courage, Polly had always called it. Lucia slowly weaved through the crowds, careful not to make eye contact lest she was roped into a conversation. Her purpose was to exist until the dinner was over so the Families could be appeased. Just as she was about to reach Ada, a striking woman stepped directly in front of Lucia’s path.

“I’ve watched you,” she said with a Russian accent. The hairpin corners of her lips curled into a knowing smile.

“And what have you gleaned?” Lucia’s eyes nervously searched for Ada or Finn to come save her - she would have happily obliged Grace in conversation to escape the mischievous smirk that reached the woman’s bright brown eyes.

The woman leaned in close to whisper, “you were one of Mr. Shelby’s lovers. Does his wife know?” She straightened and laughed. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

The shock on Lucia’s face clearly betrayed her. “We grew up together, Mr. Shelby and I. His brother’s were like my own.”

“And did Mr. Thomas Shelby ever catch your eyes?”

The implication in the woman’s tone was ever apparent but Lucia could not have been more relieved. The woman had thought she and Arthur had been lovers after witnessing their brief exchange moments before. Lucia regained her composure and spoke more confidently now.

“Tommy isn’t one to pursue women like me.” Lucia nearly laughed at her attempt at deception.

“Oh,” she cocked her head curiously, “why not?” She reached out to slowly drag her gloved fingers down Lucia’s bare arm.

For a moment, Lucia had been distracted by the jeweled headpiece gracefully crowning the woman’s hair but her touch was electrifying. It was exciting. And an overwhelming feeling to escape welled at the pit of the Sicilian’s stomach, but Lucia was too intrigued to move away. It was like everyone dissolved into nothingness around them. “Tommy is a man who chooses the best for himself.”

Duchess Tatiana Petrovna stepped closer with a coy smile. “And you’re not the best for him?”

Lucia noted the concern in the Duchess’s voice. Perhaps she _did_ know Lucia and Tommy were once lovers. Agitation had flooded her senses again but the Duchess slipped her gloved hand in hers and lifted it. There was only calm now. Tatiana admired Lucia’s oval nails, the delicate curves of her fingers, the lines across her palm...

“I have been told that, in Sicily, women are more dangerous than shotguns and more beautiful than the sea.” The Duchess held Lucia’s gaze. Her middle finger massaged slow circles into Lucia’s palm. “It seems they were correct on all accounts.”

Lucia bit her lip as the Duchess’s breath fanned across her face. Her heart was rapidly beating within her chest, and her body flushed at the innocuous contact.

Tommy watched the two women from afar. He recognized the works of seduction at play and a twinge of jealousy corrupted the apathy within him when he saw Lucia’s face grow red in anticipation. He could see her eyes dancing down to the Duchess’s lips then up to her eyes. Tommy crossed his arm tight across his chest, trying to distract himself from the sight unfolding before him.

When Lucia looked up at the Russian Duchess with her dark eyes and bit her lip with longing, Tommy was determined to put a stop to it. He stalked through the crowd, made a quick excuse to Tatiana, took Lucia by the elbow, and quickly led her up the grand staircase to an empty room at the end of the hall. Thomas Shelby was in such a rush that he hadn’t paused to recognize the scheming smirk curl on the Duchess’s face. His reaction told her everything she needed to know.

“Have you gone mad?” Lucia angrily shouted at Tommy as he locked the door behind them. Her mouth opened in preparation for a string of choice Sicilian curses, but Tommy swung around and fiercely brought his lips against hers.

He kissed her like a man dying of thirst. His hands remembered every curve of her body. He was _desperate_ for her, and Lucia could tell. She took several steps back hoping he could press his body flush against her. She wanted to be stuck between a wall and a hard place. She was _desperate_ for him. The back of her heels hit the bookshelf instead.

Lucia dragged her fingers through his hair, down his chest, until she finally reached his belt. To Tommy’s dismay, this is where she stopped. A teasing grin splayed across her face. “Were you jealous, Tommy?” She cooed by his ear before she nipped his earlobe. Her hot breath excited him even more - he pulled her hips closer to him and refused to answer. Lucia used one hand to pull her dress up and the other to guide Tommy’s hand down to the wetness between her legs.

“Are you jealous now?” A low moan escaped her lips when Tommy curled his finger toward her clit. Lucia, breathing deep at the sensations he was creating, braced herself against the mahogany bookshelves and managed between her moans, “are you jealous by how wet she made me? How much I wanted to feel her? To touch her body in all the secret places you’ve found on mine…”

With one fluid motion, Tommy had set her up on the ledge of the bookshelf and began unbuckling his belt. Lucia directed his gaze to meet hers, a hand firmly gripping his chin. For the first time, she held power over him.

“You _are_ jealous. Oh, _poor_ , Tommy,” her voice dripped with feigned sympathy.

Tommy Shelby stood still between her parted legs. _I love spreading my legs for you_ , Lucia had always growled in his ear after he returned from the war. She would dig her fingers into his back in impatience. But now, her face was calm and smug. Tommy knew she could make him beg if she wanted just as he had made her beg many times before. Lucia, still holding his chin, tilted his head up to expose his neck.

She loosened his bowtie. She unbuttoned the top of his winged collar dress shirt. She felt him shift against her.

“How badly do you want me?”

He couldn’t answer. Wouldn’t.

Lucia rolled her hips against the hard bulge in his unbuckled dress pants. “How badly do you want me, Tommy Shelby? After all this time?”

Tommy turned his head, and Lucia lovingly touched his bottom lip with the pads of her fingers. The wickedness was gone from her eyes for a moment. She was soaking him up. His lips, his jaws, his eyes. Lucia found herself falling in love all over again.

“I’ve missed you,” was all she could whisper.

Tommy spoke for the first time since he had locked them inside the room. “You’ve been a part of me all this time.” It meant _I’ve missed you too_.

Lucia pursed her lips to disguise her smile but joy had brightened her face. There was no use hiding it. Tommy brought his lips to hers, gently and more deliberately this time around, and Lucia could feel his warm member pressed against her inner thigh. She guided him in.

The tightness. The pressure. The give.

Lucia held on tight and moaned into the crook of his neck. He felt so right inside her. They fit together perfectly. As Tommy rocked in and out, Lucia took a moment to admire him from where she sat pressed against the shelves of books. Truthfully, Lucia didn’t mind if she reached an orgasm or not. The air of intimacy, comfort, and love exchanged between them was enough to fill her chest with happiness.

 _You’ve been a part of me all this time._ That’s what Tommy had said. Even after the years they spent apart while he built his empire, Lucia had still been with him. She always said she could not wait to watch him succeed. Ideally, Lucia would have wanted to be a part of his ascension, but she had watched from afar those last few years. _What a man he’s become_ , she thought with pride.

A loud series of knocks echoed into the room. “Hey, Tommy!” It was Arthur. “There’s two men from the Economic League looking for you.”

Tommy stiffened. He told Arthur he’d be down in a minute then redirected his attention to Lucia. She had already slid off the ledge of the bookshelf and was smoothing her hair down.

“Lucia...”

She flashed him an understanding smile. “It was good fun while it lasted.”

Deeply in love and abundantly sorry, Tommy took Lucia’s face between his hands to look down at her eyes, her lips, her chin. He kissed her nose just as he had done years ago and the same brightness appeared in her kind eyes.

“I can protect you. You don’t have to leave.”

Lucia lowered her head with bated breath. She had forgotten her plans to start anew in a foreign land. “Let’s talk about it another time. Sometime soon?” Kissing her one last time, Tommy agreed and, with a departing smile, he stepped out into the hall.

After several moments straightening her appearance and buying herself time so as not to rouse suspicions, Lucia finally exited the room and began down the grand staircase. It wasn’t hard to spot Polly sipping on champagne in an elegant dress on one side of the room. Lucia made a bee-line for the Shelby matriarch, more vigilant not to get stopped by any Duchesses this time.

“Polly, you’re looking beautiful as usual.”

“Tommy’s got you standing in for all the Families, has he?” Lucia nodded. “But you haven’t spoken to any of these politicians.”

“They’re all on the Shelby payroll. Even if I was on good terms with my family, we would have no use for these peacocks.”

“Ah, yes,” Polly flagged down a waiter for another glass. “I heard about the nasty tumble your brother got into. I’ll say a prayer for him.”

Anger rose within Lucia mostly towards herself. She remembered where she was supposed to be instead of playing the unfortunate middle man between all of Birmingham and the Shelbys. “And that wasn’t by your order?”

“Surely not! You know John has a mind of his own.”

The young Sicilian dare not look around for John or she’d marched right up and throw fists in front of everyone. Instead, she caught sight of a tense conversation between Grace, Tommy, and the Duchess. Grace excused herself while Tommy stood a little longer with the Russian. Lucia watched his eyebrows furrow deep as he spoke - he was angry.

Polly leaned in, distracting Lucia from Tommy. “I always expected you and Tommy to find yourselves back to one another eventually. Even after the war, you were the only one who could manage him. Inseparable, you two were. I’m shocked your father didn’t burn the city down.”

“My father believed his children should walk proudly with anyone they love.” She let out a long exhale that she felt she had held for years. Besides, it was Tommy who said the relationship was ‘bad for business,’ so it was hardly her choice even if she wanted to stay with him. Lucia threw a forlorn glance across the room where Tommy and Grace swayed to the orchestra. “Tommy knows what’s good for him…”

Lucia squinted as a tall figure entering the room from a service entrance. He wore a clean waiters suit and a striking resemblance to Giovanni Erice. Angel Changretta and Giovanni Erice were friends, just as their fathers were before them in a small seaside village in the old country. Dread filled Lucia’s thoughts. Giovanni was slowly snaking through the crowd towards Tommy. Before she knew it, she had left Polly and hurried towards her brother’s friend. His arms hung straight by his sides, the fingers of his right hand twitching toward his pocket. Gun, Lucia thought as she shoved people out of her way.

Giovanni took longer strides as he neared his target. He reached his gloved hand into his pocket, yanked out the gun, and extended it out to aim. Lucia slid to a stop in front of him just as the first shot rang out. Then the second. And her body was thrown off balance from catching both bullets. With a violent sweep of his arm, the gunman flung Lucia to the side and emptied the three remaining ones toward his intended target. Arthur was only moments too late when he smothered Giovanni in a hailfire of fists and kicks.

The world was a blur in Lucia’s eyes. The disfigured, screaming guests ran past where she lay on the floor. She felt fine from the impact of the bullets. It was the adrenaline, her mind pieced together. Lucia sat upright, blinking hard to refocus her vision on the chaos unfolding around her. It was Tommy she was hoping to see first - she wanted him to be alright. But he was on the ground, mere feet in front of her, leaned over his wife as she bled out in his arms.

It was Arthur who noticed her first. His knuckles were raw and bloodied from beating into Giovanni, but John, Finn, and Michael were taking their turns now.

“Luc,” Arthur squatted next to her with a line of concern welling deep between his eyebrows upon noticing the two ugly stains of blood grow larger and larger across her chest. “Okay, love, sit up for me,” he calmly entreated, helping her keep her head from lolling to the side. There were two exit wounds. He let out a breath in relief. There’d be no digging into her wounds to fish them out.

“Is Tommy okay?” Lucia weakly asked.

Arthur balled up his jacket to support her head as she collapsed against the staircase. “Don’t worry about Tommy. A nick is all he got.”

“Where did the bullets get me?” Arthur looked at her with worry but didn’t answer. “Where, Arthur?”

“Left shoulder and your side. But you’re breathing and you’re talking, so it didn’t hit anything important.”

Lucia forced a small smile. “Gio was always a shit shot.”

Arthur brushed the sweat from her forehead and was just about to reassure her that she’d be okay when Tommy stood. Grace lay dead at his feet.

“You!” Tommy crudely lashed his finger out toward Lucia. The wrath, grief, and hatred was displayed clearly on Tommy’s face even though Lucia’s blurred vision. “You fuckin’ did this!”

She parted her lips to explain but her voice was lost into the silence. Her body grew numb and her eyes grew dark. If this was what it felt like to die, Lucia thought, it was a welcome relief and she hoped it lasted forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought! It's been so long since I've written so I'd really appreciate feedback :)


	4. The Unwritten Rules

_December 1918_

The best time to sit by the churning waters of the Cut was just before daybreak when the blackbirds began to sing. The falling moon would always peek through the dusty clouds and glimmer one last time against the water. It was the same on the day Tommy Shelby came from France. Lucia found him by the Cut before he had even reunited with Polly and Ada. His feet dangled down to the water precariously. Lucia silently situated herself beside him.

The few trees remaining in industrial Birmingham rustled. The clanging of industry began to echo down the canals.

Each week during mass, she had lit a candle specifically for him. Lucia noticed how different he looked after years at war. His blue eyes were dull and his face was gaunt. He looked the same but wholly different all at the same time. His expression wore a blank canvas. The line between his eyes was deeper. The furrow on his brow curved low.

"You weren't with John and Arthur." Lucia watched him tamp a cigarette into his palm to pack the tobacco in.

He held the lit cigarette between his fingers after a pull. "Aye."

"And you wanted me to find you because you wanted to see me first?"

Tommy nodded without turning to look at her. Lucia placed a comforting hand on his back, and rested her cheek against his shoulder blade. The muscles in his body tensed upon contact. It nearly made Lucia burst into tears. He was so unlike the man he used to be.

"What have they done to you, my love?"

"Suppose," he started in a voice dark and like gravel. "Suppose those shovels don't stop knocking in me head. Suppose I threw meself into the Cut."

Panic rattled through Lucia's bones, and she desperately tried to compose herself to respond. In little less than a whisper she answered, "my heart would break. There's no living for me without you, Tommy."

* * *

_1924, Present_

Lucia hadn't seen anything but the walls of her hospital room for two months. Her wounds were mending though her body was weak from the drugs and the bedrest. Outside of her door were two men from the Peaky Blinders at all times, day and night. Aside from the nurses, doctors, and orderlies that spoke to her, Arthur visited once each week. Sometimes Linda came with him. For the most part Lucia was alone with no contact with the outside world, and her brain was swimming from all the quiet.

When an assassination attempt like that is ordered and fails, it was the rules of warfare that the opposing family would be stomped out. Once she had regained consciousness, Lucia had asked about her brother. Angel had been killed while he slept only a few doors from where she was now held prisoner. His throat had been crudely cut with a razor - the Peaky Blinder trademark. Vincente and Audrey Changretta were bound to be close behind in the afterlife. Which meant Lucia was the only Changretta left. But it had been two months and Lucia, regrettably, was still alive. Death was the better path, she thought.

It was not long before Arthur made his weekly visit. He found Lucia sitting up with her legs dangling off the side of the bed. Her face was brighter, happier, and healthier, he noticed sadly. Arthur Shelby didn't have the heart to tell her what happened to Angel or what happened to her parents. He also knew that she had nothing to do with the attempt on Tommy's life, so he was hesitant to follow Tommy's orders now to bring her to him.

"Hello, Luc," he placed a fond kiss on her forehead. "You wanna break out? Get you some fresh air? I'll bring the car around."

"Where'll we go?" Lucia braced herself back against the bed before the pads of her feet hit the cold floor. She wasn't daft enough to believe the car trip was a recreational change of pace for her. Especially not after two months of being imprisoned in her hospital room, left to grieve her family alone.

Arthur slid his hands thoughtfully into his pockets, pretending to think hard for a scenic spot. "We can go into the country. You'll enjoy the sun."

"Whatever you think is best, Arthur." Lucia's fate was sealed.

Arthur drove out of Birmingham in silence unless to point out hefty cows grazing along the road or how the air was much cleaner so far out of the city. He was nervous. Perhaps he was sorry. Lucia knew Arthur to be kind, compassionate, and loving. She had been a second sister to the oldest Shelby. Now, he was chauffeuring her to her death.

The car came to a grinding halt in front of a broken down farmhouse; the city was far behind them. The oldest Shelby hesitated when he stepped out, but he slowly walked around to open her door.

"I'll have to blindfold ya."

He _was_ sorry.

With a deep breath for courage, Lucia nodded and a narrow cloth wrapped around her head and over her eyes. Arthur held her hand and they slowly entered into the moldy barn. She heard the trees dance as the wind blew through. She heard the birds singing. It was all so beautiful. She memorized every step placed down along the stone passage way they descended. She focused on the searing pain along her sides where the bullet ripped through her skin. Soon, Lucia thought, the pain would disappear forever.

There was no telling how Tommy would kill her. Lucia had thought about it for the last two months. There was no telling whether it would be slow or whether it would be quick. Grace had died slowly from her wounds. Perhaps Tommy would do the same to Lucia as revenge. The Sicilian grazed her fingertips along the damp stone walls which curved with the stairway. No one would find her body so far below the ground and so far from home.

"Alright, love." Arthur helped her take the last step and they walked forward. "Sit here," he guided her down into a chair. Before he undid her blindfold, Arthur bound her wrists behind her, feeding the twine through the shoulders of the chair so she wouldn't be able to escape.

"I think I'm ready to die," Lucia whispered through parched lips. She wanted it to be true. The blindfold was lifted and it was Tommy she saw first, standing before her as if hell had spat him back out. She adjusted her eyes to the dimness. There was Tommy, Arthur, John, and, only five feet away from her, slumped in a chair much like her own, sat Vincente Changretta. "Papà."

Vincente, even facing death, did not acknowledge his daughter. He muttered prayers and shivered when a cold wind would occasionally rush down the stone corridors Lucia had just descended from. In silence he had watched Arthur Shelby bring his daughter down like a lamb to the slaughter. By disowning her, Vincente hoped she would have a chance of survival in the hands of the Peaky Blinders.

Tommy looked between Vincente and Lucia. Her beautiful brown eyes were begging her father to look at her. But she couldn't bear to look at Tommy. He had hated her viciously in the last two months. Despite Vincente pleading on behalf of his daughter's innocence, Tommy wanted to hurt her just as she had hurt him. He couldn't remember what it felt like to love her. Not after Grace drew her last breath in his arms. Loving Lucia was as alien as the man he used to be before the war.

"Do you know what time it is, Lucia?" Silence. "Look at me."

Lucia slowly lifted her eyes up. Her father continued praying; his breath condensed into the cold air in white clouds.

"It's after seven in the evening, and I'm going to keep both of you alive until it gets light." Tommy loudly dragged a seat in front of Vincente and pointed a gloved finger into his face. "I'll deliver the final cut on your daughter so you can watch her bleed out. But, we'll wait to hear the blackbirds singing outside...just like we used to by the Cut, right, Lucia?" Tommy leaned back in his chair to throw his intense attention towards her. "It was a beautiful sound, wasn't it?"

Lucia's lips quivered under Tommy's ferocious gaze. She squeezed her eyes shut. With a small gesture, John brought his brother a case full of knives. Tommy stood, lifted a broad blade from the velvet lined case, and leaned down close to Lucia's face. "Open your eyes, Lucia." His voice was shockingly soft that she couldn't help but obey.

"I'm only going to ask you once…" Tommy brought the knife threateningly close to her face. "Were you involved in the assassination attempt?"

Lucia grit her teeth and snarled up to Tommy, "I wouldn't have taken two bullets for you if I wanted you dead."

Although unsatisfied, Thomas Shelby saw the truth in her eyes. He wasn't done with her. Not yet. He moved on to Vincente Changretta. "This is the end for you, old man. It was your tongue that gave the order. And your daughter that will suffer for it." Tommy tightly gripped Vincente's chin, prying his mouth open. "I'll take your tongue first, and then you will watch as I tear her apart."

"I have no daughter," Vincente said with the nonchalance of a man who was to meet his true family and his God in the afterlife. Lucia's heart broke and everyone could see it clear as day.

"Fine," Tommy stood upright, resolute. "Then I'll take _her_ ears. _Her_ fingers. Then I'll take her fucking toes." He took long strides to Lucia, caught her by the hair, and yanked her head back to poise the blade below her earlobe.

He wanted a reaction from Vincente but the only sound that travelled into Tommy Shelby's ears were murmured prayers. Anger welled up inside of him, he wanted a reaction - he wanted an explanation. He wanted a reason why Grace died instead of him.

With a closed fist, Tommy threw a blow into Lucia's healing wound. An agonizing wail drew out from her core and her sight went dim from the pain. She gasped for air, struggling to lift her chest while bound down to the chair. Arthur and John, who had been watching their brother in much discomfort, nearly leapt at the sudden punch. Even Tommy was shocked by his own violent action. He released Lucia from his grip. Hatred had blinded him.

He turned to Vincente, knife gripped tight, and began walking toward him with more determination than ever to draw blood. "I forget who I am, old man. I'm a Blinder. I'll take your fucking eyes first!"

Lucia used her shoulders to wipe the tears of pain from her face. "Tommy, please!"

But before Tommy could reach him, Vincente Changretta's blood, brain, and fragments of his skull sprayed out on the both of them. Arthur had pulled the trigger. Whether it was an act of mercy for Lucia or for Tommy, the oldest Shelby couldn't say.

Staring at her father's body, Lucia was in shock. When Arthur cut the cords that bound her hands, her shaking fingers couldn't wipe her father's blood from her cheek. When John said that her mother had boarded the immigrant ship to America, Lucia's heart didn't find hope. She was still a prisoner and she was surrounded by the enemy.

"I'll get you out of here, love. No one's going to hurt you anymore." Arthur used his handkerchief to wipe her face before the blood dried. He shrugged off his large coat and draped it over her small shoulders so she wouldn't see the brain fragments that clung to her shirt. He began leading her towards the stairway back up to the barn, but Lucia stopped beside Tommy as he stood frozen, looking down the corpse of Vincente Changretta.

"All I did was love you, and you took everything from me." Lucia held back her tears. She shoved Tommy hard enough to break him out of his trance. "I could have left a long time ago! You wouldn't let me leave! Why couldn't you have let me be? Answer me, Tommy!"

Tommy regretted saying he loved her so long ago in her flat. Not because a part of him didn't mean it, not because she was angry at him. Tommy regretted saying he loved her because now he was starting to feel like he really was. But now he was alone. Greta was gone. Grace was gone. And Lucia…

"You're free to leave." After a pause, he dared to ask, "where will you go?"

Lucia slapped him across the face with as much strength as she could muster.

Tommy watched Arthur support her body as she limped away and disappeared beyond the curve of the stairs. "Get rid of the body," Tommy instructed John then hurried up the stairs to catch a last glimpse of Lucia before Arthur drove her away. But the black Bentley had already peeled out down the country roads towards Birmingham.

Tommy Shelby stood alone in front of the decrepit barn and felt sorry for himself. He had spent the last two months planning revenge for his wife's death. But no matter how much he tried to convince himself to hate Lucia, he couldn't shake the feeling of wanting her now that Grace was dead.

Lucia was a part of him, after all.

How could he survive without half of himself?

* * *

**Preview for chapter 5:**

"Guardarlo. È stato colpito dal fulmine."

"What's she saying?"

"She said you've been hit by the thunderbolt. It's when love strikes you like a flash of lightning - it's like…a beautiful death." Her brows were furrowed with study. Her head tilted in concentration. "Non è possibile," Lucia murmured mostly to herself. _It's not possible._


	5. Bad For Business

Lucia lifted her head from Tommy's shoulder to get a better view of his face. They had spent most of the night pressed against each other, trying to reach that toe-curling pleasure together. Now everything was still and there were a few hours left until daybreak. He had his arm wrapped around her, staring up at the water staining ceilings of her flat.

"Were you thinking of Grace?"

Tommy shook his head no. It was a lie. He thought of Grace the entire time. He was thinking about Grace even while laying naked next to Lucia.

"Do you think she'll come back?"

Tommy shook his head again. There was no way for him to know.

"In that case," Lucia started slowly in fear her eagerness would betray her, "do _we_ have a chance?"

Tommy lifted himself off the bed, stooping down to pluck his clothes off the floor. He laughed at the very notion. "If I were a better man, I would say yes, Luc."

She sat up now with the sheets covering herself, staring at the back of his head. "And you're deciding not to be a better man?"

"Luc," he turned and cupped a hand under her chin which she pushed away, "I have to do this on my own. I've got plans for the Blinders. Your father would meddle - even you know he's too old fashioned." Tommy paused to ascertain if she was following. "We'd be bad for business."

Lucia shook her head in disbelief, arms crossed over her chest to be a shield from the dirtiness she felt. It was her turn to stifle a laugh at the irony of it all. "You were right," she finally ceded, "you will never be that better man, Tommy. I want you to leave. Next time, go to Lizzie Stark if you want a cheap fuck to forget about Grace."

Tommy hesitated and searched her eyes to find any hint of a bluff. "Maybe you can help me be a better man," he half-joked. He didn't want to go just yet.

"I am not your rehabilitation center." The anger in her voice was clear and she paused before finishing, "I don't want to see you again."

When he walked out of her flat, Tommy didn't know he would only see her again mere weeks before he married Grace. When Lucia had walked into his office with her demands so casually, Tommy could hardly believe they hadn't seen each other for years. He noted how unchanged she was - her brown eyes were fierce but there still lay a glimmer of vulnerability meant only for him. It was when he started wanting her - he had never stopped, truthfully.

When Tommy married Grace, he thought they would live a very long life together. But the Economic League was on his ass and so were the Russians. Tommy needed a break so he went to Lucia's flat. She hadn't moved. The water stains were still on the ceiling above her bed. He stood in the doorway and watched as she packed with her backside towards him. It had gotten bigger, rounder. Tommy Shelby might have been a formidable giant in Birmingham, but he took a moment, pulled on his cigarette, and admired her ass.

When Tommy watched Lucia crumble in desire for the Duchess, he wanted to touch her in her secret places with respectful love. Lucia was a part of him. So much more than Grace. Grace betrayed him to Campbell, but Tommy forgave her anyways. It was different with Lucia. She was a part of him. Just as Tommy never allowed himself to be kind to himself, he was not kind to Lucia. Just as Tommy was unable to resist the temptation of his ambition, he was unable to resist the brightness of her eyes.

But when Grace died in his arms from a Changretta bullet, Tommy blamed Lucia because he blamed himself. His wife had taken a bullet meant for him. But, as Lucia bled out from her own wounds, Tommy couldn't stop yelling, blaming, hating. Lucia was an extension of him.

Then he had her tied up beside her father. He threatened her, hurt her. He nearly cut her to pieces. But Vincente Changretta's blood, brain, and skull fragments only hit the two of them. It was just Tommy and Lucia.

Tommy Shelby spent two years thinking about it all. It took him two years to realize he was selfish and wrong, but he was also hopelessly and painfully in love with the woman whose heart he had destroyed.

By wagon, canal, car, and ferry, Tommy went to Scopello, a coastal Sicilian village in the province of Trapani. The fresh ocean breeze relaxed the muscles on Tommy Shelby's tense face. His coat, useless and a burden under the warm sun, hung in the crook of his arm as he hiked up a steep road. At the top of the hill stood a white cottage overlooking large rocks jutting out through the Tyrrhenian Sea.

An old woman sat on a wooden chair in front of the cottage under the shades of a carob tree. She wore her years gracefully along the curves on her face, the white hairs peeking under a headcovering bluer than the ocean behind him, and the wrinkles on her fingers which mended a tightly woven net. Tommy approached her with a pleasant smile.

"Uh, hello," he removed his cap to wipe the sweat off his brow. "I'm looking for a young woman. She - her hair is black. She had brown eyes…"

The old woman settled her small eyes on Tommy, riddled with confusion. Her fingers stopped mending the large net spread over her lap and across the empty space between herself and the handsome Englishman.

Tommy racked his mind trying to remember the bits and pieces of the Sicilian dialect he remembered Lucia saying most often. "This woman...she says, ' _soffoca la tua sigaretta, coglione_.'"

The woman, who had waited patiently for Tommy to find his words, now exclaimed in shock. She was neither a prick nor a smoker, and she told the Englishman as much. She leapt to her feet and began shouting, "Soffoca le _tue_ sigarette, coglione! Vieni a casa mia e mi insulti! Ti maledico! Sei bello come un asino!" _Choke on YOUR cigarettes, you prick! You come to my home and insult me! I curse you! You're as handsome as a donkey!_

Taken aback by the shouting, Tommy took a few steps back, unsure what to do or when the old woman would stop.

"Noni!" A familiar voice called out from inside the cottage and, soon after, Lucia's head popped out from an open window. "Noni, perché urli come una capra? Che cosa c'é?" _Grandma, why are you shouting like a goat? What's the matter?_

She spotted Tommy and immediately ducked back inside. Half expecting her to hide from him, what Tommy Shelby did not expect was for her to burst through the door with a twelve gauge shotgun extended between her arms. Tommy gingerly looked down the double barrel pointed straight at him.

"Lucia, I'll explain - "

The double barrel lunged closer. "Get my name out of your mouth," she barked.

Tommy put his hands up, glancing cautiously between Lucia and the old woman who had resumed mending the nets. The woman, Noni, as Lucia's fondly called her, looked Tommy up and down before exclaiming,

"Abbassa la pistola, cara. Guardarlo. È stato colpito dal fulmine." _Lower the gun, dear. Look at him. He's been hit by the thunderbolt._

Skeptically, Lucia did as her Noni said. She studied Tommy with squinted eyes. She was searching for the _look_. The hopeful glimmer of love at first sight - getting hit by the thunderbolt. It was the moment when you're turned inside out, upside down, lingering both within the world and all around it. It was the tearing of your ribs apart to unleash the beautiful and wild forest that had sprouted within seconds.

Lucia searched Tommy's face. She couldn't see it. She locked the rifle and held it in the crook of her arm.

Noni pointed a gnarled finger at Tommy. "Adesso è lì. Non lo vedi? Gli uomini pregano per questo!" _It's there now. Can't you see it? Men pray for it!_

"What's she saying?" Tommy asked.

"She said you've been hit by the thunderbolt. It's when love strikes you like a flash of lightning - it's like… a beautiful death." She took a step closer to Tommy. Her brows were furrowed with study. Her head tilted in concentration. "Non è possibile, Noni," Lucia murmured mostly to herself. _It's not possible._

Lucia took another step closer. Squinted a little harder.

Then she spotted it. Just there, as Noni had said.

Another step.

It was a little thing, just a glimmer tucked away in Tommy's eyes. It wasn't the blinding sparkle of a youthful infatuation. Nor was it like flashes of lust. It was quieter. It was a rough, worn out, bleeding love resting in the pools of his heavenly blue irises. It was there now.

She stood directly in front of Tommy Shelby now. Her brows were still knit between her dark eyes. Still studying. Lucia slowly reached up to rest her hand against his cheek. "Is it true?" Her voice wavered tentatively. If he said yes it would be irrevocable.

That was the strange thing about the thunderbolt. It was consuming. Permanent. It was like standing under the crest of a wave, suspended in time...just waiting for it to crash down. Tommy placed his hand on her face.

There she was, suspended.

There he was, ready to crash.

"Yes."

* * *

It was a begrudging realization for Lucia to realize Thomas Shelby had once again tied himself into her life. She took muted pleasure in watching him huff up the Sicilian hills with the large harvesting net in his hands. She had even threatened to throw olives at him if he did or said anything to displease her. Tommy may have been hit by the thunderbolt of love, but Lucia was still cautious to forgive him as quickly this time.

"Is that your grandmother?" He threw the net over his shoulder as they approached a small grove of olive trees.

Lucia shook her head. "My family in Erice disavowed me. They said you should have killed me along with my father to save them the shame." She laughed sadly at the memory which replayed clearly in her mind every night. "Noni is just a kind woman from the village who allows me to call her grandmother."

Taking one side of the net from his hands, Lucia spread it on the ground under the first tree. She grabbed a large stick from nearby and began whacking the branches until olives began raining down into the net. Hands in his pockets, wide-eyed at the sight, Tommy admired her from a few feet away. He soaked her all in. Her hair was browner. Eyes, darker. Sun-kissed and beautiful, Lucia stood before him, beating down like she held a vendetta against each branch.

"I've been pretending it's your head," Lucia laughed over her shoulder as she brought down an especially violent thwack which rattled olives down into her nets. "Grab a stick and be useful for once!"

Tommy, eager to avoid being pelted with the newly harvested olives that lay within Lucia's reach, did as she asked. Unbuttoning his dress shirt and immaculately starched collar, he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. He noticed Lucia's eyes linger a moment longer than normal before turning away. The gleam of desire was poorly concealed for him but Lucia would never admit it.

When the net was full and dragged down to the cottage, Lucia turned to him. Her face glowed rosy with exertion. "When will you go back to Birmingham?"

"I thought I'd stay a while," he brought a cigarette out from his pocket.

Lucia scoffed. "Well, there are nice hotels in town."

A wisp of smoke danced out of Tommy's mouth as he spoke. "I was hopin' you'd ask me to stay with you."

"No," was her amused answer. "I don't care how many thunderbolts you've been hit by, Tommy Shelby."

"I was," he decided to take a long pull just as he had begun his sentence, "I was hopin' to -"

"Seduce me?"

Tommy smiled. "I was hopin' I could convince you to come back with me."

Lucia snatched the cigarette from between his fingers, brought it to her lips, and, without a word, stalked down the hill down towards the ocean. Her strides were long, her steps were determined. She needed to think and the water helped. Lucia nestled into the warm sand, watching the waves crash in and recede out. The cigarette hung from her mouth. She was listening for answers.

It had been the steadfast beat of the waves had drowned out her nightmares when she first found sanctuary in the humble village of Scopello. Every night she heard her father say 'I have no daughter', and feel his blood drip down her face. She had fought hard against the monsters to erase all memories of Tommy Shelby. But now here he was robbing his way into her mind again.

The breeze was colder as the sun sank further behind the horizon, but the sand was still warm. The light grew dim when Tommy draped his coat over her shoulders and found a place in the sand beside her.

"You don't have to come with me if you don't want to. I came here to make my amends."

"Tommy Shelby, apologizing?" Lucia laughed out loud at the thought of it. "This must be hell."

"I'm a better man. And you," he took a deep breath, "you're a part of me and I _need_ you."

Staring long and hard at Tommy Shelby's softened face, Lucia's eyes narrowed to catch another glimpse of that quiet love he had hidden away in his eyes. "You killed my brother, my father, and you almost killed me. Time after time after time again you chose your business, your family, and Grace over me - even after she had betrayed you. I _never_ betrayed you, Tommy. I went against my family for you. I was disowned for you. I took two bullets for you and you had me locked away in a hospital for two months so you could plan my death."

"I kept you in that hospital so your family couldn't get to you."

" _First_. You kept me in that hospital so my family couldn't get to me _first_."

"Yes, you're right," Tommy firmly admitted through his shame. "I did want to hurt you but I believed you when you said you weren't involved."

Pangs of frustration blazed through Lucia's chest. "You shouldn't have had to look me in the face moments before you planned to kill me to know I was innocent! I can't believe you've come all the way here under the guise of apologizing when all you wanted was for me to justify your actions and welcome you with open, forgiving arms!" His coat fell into the sand as she jumped to her feet. "I don't care how much love is in your eyes, Thomas Shelby. And I don't give a damn how many fuckin' thunderbolts hit you."

Tommy didn't let her stalk away from him this time. He fished through his pockets to palm a velveteen case. "Here. I've kept it for years."

Lucia looked down at a peculiar bit of metal sitting atop a pillow where a ring would be.

"It's the first bullet you caught by the Brummegen Boys. I sat with you by the Cut and watched you carve it out of your arm."

"And you kept it? After all these years?"

Tommy noticed the sudden change in her body language when he nodded. Her jaw wasn't as firmly clenched. Her tightly folded arms fell down to her side. And it wasn't a burning fire that glimmered in her eyes; it was much more subdued. Quieter. Familiar. Lucia remembered the children they used to be. They were dirty, ragged, shoeless on the streets of Birmingham. They were friends and each other's confidantes well before they shared a bed for the first time.

While her mother would have taught her to see the bullet as a sign of human mortality under the great big God, Lucia looked down at the bit of metal in Tommy Shelby's hand and saw their foundation. For a moment, they were the innocent children they used to be. Before Tommy went to France and before Lucia had to watch him go.

Tommy snaked an arm around her waist to bring their bodies flush. "Hey," he leaned down to meet her eyes, "I really am sorry, Luc. For everything."

His warm breath fanned against her chilled face. Lucia was helplessly suspended under the crest of that wave again. It loomed high and close, and all she could do was hold on so she wouldn't get washed out. She forced herself to look back into that deep dark sea within his eyes; that quiet, dangerous love. She held on tight.

"Come back with me. We'll start again. We can be a family." Tommy placed a small kiss on her cold nose. They gently swayed back and forth on the sand, under the colors of the setting sun, in each other's arms where they were always meant to be. "I'll hold you like this every day. I'll tell you everything. I'll _give_ you all of me."

As she drowned under his spell again, Lucia looked up with a wicked twinkle in her dark eyes. "If you think about killing me again, I'll use a garrote on you while you sleep like the proper _Cosa Nostra_."

Tommy recognized it as a bit of a joke but most of a threat. The woman he held in his arms was as menacing as the Sicilian mafia, the _Cosa Nostra_. Lucia wasn't a made-man who had earned the right to take the blood oath of _omertà_ , the sacred code of honor and silence. She was born into the life of the _Cosa Nostra_ ; she had been baptised in the dirty waters of it. He had been foolish all these years to have taken her for granted - to have hurt her time and time again. She must have loved him deeply to have kept him alive.

In spite of the promise of death, Tommy nodded his agreement and felt Lucia relax in his arms. He rested his cheek on the top of her head.

"Will you laugh more? Like you did before France? If you can promise me that, I'll consider coming back."

While Grace had brought song back into his life, Lucia would bring laughter back into his chest. "Aye," Tommy responded, "only for you."

* * *

Two weeks passed and Lucia sat at her table sipping on tea. She had made it from the lemons and honeysuckles in her garden. She was watching Tommy. His chest rose and fell peacefully as he slept in her bed. It was nearly ten in the morning and there he was, still asleep. The ocean breeze, the Sicilian sun, and solitude had been good for him. He wasn't tense anymore - hadn't touched his gun since arriving fifteen days earlier.

Lucia sat at her table and watched him, earnestly hoping for his eyes to flutter open so she could familiarize herself with those bright blue pools of adoration again. His hair fanned across his forehead in a boyish way. For a moment, Tommy looked like the man he was before the war. He was happier. He was full of laughter - as was promised.

Though they spent the nights tucked under the covers in the same bed, it wasn't full of passion and lust. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and she rested her head on his shoulder. Lucia would string together questions and Tommy would string together answers.

_Why do you wear glasses now? Who's running Birmingham while you're gone? How's that bastard Alfie Solomons? Shouldn't you be with your son? Oh, whatever happened to that Russian duchess I liked so much?_

_The Economic League fractured my skull and I was addicted to more than opium for a time. Everyone's split after I had them sent to jail. Alfie's still a bastard. Lizzie Stark is looking after Charlie. The Duchess is with a poor man in Vienna._

"Your answers just created a lot more questions," Lucia had teasingly pinched his side, but Tommy only held her closer and promised to answer them all.

They were becoming friends again. They walked down to the beach each evening and shared a comfortable silence; Tommy, Lucia, and the sea. When in town, Tommy had to keep an eye out or she would get into a squabble with the fruit vendor who she was convinced was out to cheat her.

"È un uomo scadente! Offro cinque bottiglie di delizioso olio d'oliva per poche arance e lui rifiuta!" _He is a cheap man! I offer five bottles of delicious olive oil for a few oranges and he refuses!_ "Just for a few oranges, Tom! I offered him _five_ bottles!" She would hold one hand up with her fingers widely spread to emphasize the tragedy and injustice.

"Luc," Tommy would cautiously counter, following as she angrily pounded up the hill toward the cottage, "you offered him five bottles of olive oil for thirty oranges and refused to compromise."

Lucia had snapped her head back, still fuming. "It _was_ a good compromise! Vito has been cheating me since I got here!"

Bemused, Tommy would trail behind her, hands in his pockets. He would relish the salty ocean breeze, the beautiful and furious woman ahead of him, and it had made him want to laugh. The last three years away from her felt like a dream, and Tommy Shelby was content with the reality he had woken up in. Sicily had a pleasant effect on Lucia, he noticed. While she was soft-spoken and sweet-faced all their lives, now she was louder and more intense, more passionate about the little things.

Tommy beamed with pride as she would give cheapskates and drunks a tongue lashing in town. She would scold the goats that would climb up rocky hills to get a mouthful of peaches from her garden. If all was well both in town and with the goats, Lucia would stick a finger into Tommy's face when he would say anything the least bit kind to her.

"I forgot how beautiful you look in the mornings," Tommy would say under the carob tree where they'd enjoy the sunrise.

Lucia would jump to her feet, lean down, point a finger in Tommy's face, narrow her eyes to appear as cross as possible, and would fight off a smile to say, "you've got some cheek being so kind to me, Thomas Shelby! I won't tolerate _any_ of it!"

Laughing, Tommy would call her bluff and push her hand away. "You look beautiful," he would say again. He'd be in want of nothing more in that moment than to pull her into his lap, but Lucia's face would go red and a grin would break out over her face. Suddenly she was the sweet-faced and shy girl again. Speechless now, she would place a loving hand under his chin and look at him a moment longer before sitting back down.

Now, Lucia sat at her table impatiently waiting for Tommy to wake up. He was leaving for Birmingham the next day and she finally had an answer for him. She waited five minutes and then a few more. Restless, she slipped out into her dewy garden, watched the sun shimmer over the horizon through the peach trees, paced between her plumerias, lantanas, oleanders, purple bougainvilleas, then her collection of bright neriums before brusquely returning inside as quickly as she had exited it. Tommy was still asleep.

Irritable now in her anxiety, Lucia climbed on top of him and firmly held his jaw in her hand. Tommy's eyes shot open in seconds. "Listen here, Tommy Shelby," she tightened her knees on either side of his body to keep him still - though he wouldn't have dared to move anyways. "Five bottles of hand pressed olive oil _is_ a good bargain for thirty oranges and I don't want to hear one more word about it!"

Tommy would have laughed if her grip on his jaw had loosen, but Lucia was determined to plow on as loudly and as intensely as she had been the last two weeks.

"You're going back home tomorrow and I -" Her voice faltered and failed altogether. A moment passed and she continued a bit softer now, "I don't think I can watch you leave again." Softer again. "Could you just stay? It's easier. We're much happier," she pleaded. "We could be all the things we want to be here. Haven't you realized your ambition only hurts the ones you love most?"

"I can't throw it all away now, Luc."

Lucia guided his hand up to her cheek. "Not even for us?"

"I can't," Tommy whispered. His eyebrows furrowed between his ocean eyes. "Come back with me."

She bit the inside of her lip to keep the beads of tears from growing. "I realized I was beginning to like you as I used to. I realized I was beginning to love you as I used to too. But…" Lucia sat back on his lap and let out the deep breath held in her chest. "But, there's no place for me in Birmingham."

"Aye, there's a place for you," Tommy insisted. "It's right beside me."

* * *

**Preview for chapter 6:**

"Do you remember," Lucia began to reminisce, "when you'd take me to the carnival and afterwards the Lees would build a huge bonfire? It always made the cold nights much happier."

"What I remember from those bonfires is you taking a swing at those poor blokes after calling 'em 'Shelta speaking bastards.'"


	6. Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: After some research, I've found that the Shelby's are technically Rilantu Mincéirí or Irish Travellers. While the Mincéirí do have their linguistic origins in Romani, they speak Shelta, a language of mixed English, Irish/Gaeilge origins as well as Romani. From now on, I'll be making amends for historical accuracy rather than following the misinformation from the show. I'm a hoe for accuracy :D  
> Another historical note is that British soldiers sadly did call Italian soldiers "macaroni" during WW1. It's a strange (uncreative) slur, but I didn't make it up. I promise!
> 
> Thank you so much for coming with me on this journey! I thought I'd be wrapped up with this story by now, but I keep thinking of new things to put Tommy and poor Lucia through. Tbh, I'm not even at the plot I've been meaning to get to (lmao) but that's being introduced in the next chapter!
> 
> Please let me know if I can do anything better! It's been a while since I've written consistently so I'm still rusty.

Tommy's home was large and his property was vast. It was the greenest thing Lucia had ever seen. She couldn't help but smile on the drive in. She hadn't been born Mincéirí and she hadn't been born Irish, but it was all hers now. With Tommy right beside her, they walked up to the front door under the towering portico and stepped inside. Home.

"It's as nice as I remember," Lucia's head swiveled this way and that to soak up the room. The family portrait with his late wife no longer hung above the staircase. Shedding their coats into the waiting hands of staff, she meandered through the house with Tommy following close behind. He would wave off house-staff if they approached him and kept his eyes locked only on her. Her eyes were filled with curiosity as she peeked behind every door and explored every cabinet.

"Why're you sneakin' around?" Tommy laughed when she tiptoed up the stairs. "This is your house now."

Lucia looked back at him. She looked so foreign in the house with her sun-kissed skin and bright eyes. Tommy braced himself at the sight. He went to Sicily to find her and he couldn't believe she had come back with him. A sadness struck his chest; they _would_ have been happier by the sea, far from the dark clouds of Birmingham industry. Lucia read the uncertainty in Tommy's face which he disguised underneath a grim countenance. Though they were a long way away from the Tyrrhenian Sea, she could still see the crests of its waves in his eyes.

Stepping down to plant herself firmly in front of him, Lucia studied his eyes, his lips, his jaw. "Here I am. Right here where I belong." She planted a kiss on the curve below his mouth. "It's so quiet. Last time I was here it was much noisier."

"Last time you were here," Tommy began matter of factly, "there were more people."

"And a wedding in motion." The words flew out of her mouth faster than she could catch them. Stopping again, mid-ascent, Lucia threw an apologetic glance over her shoulder. "Was it at least a good time? Did it make for a good memory?"

"Not at all. Arthur killed a Russian mole for Sabini in the butler's pantry. Lots of fighting. Lots of business Grace wasn't happy with."

Lucia laughed as she resumed the climb up to the next floor. "Sounds like a good time. I would have enjoyed it."

"I had thought you would."

Peeking into the long row of rooms broken between coves with couches and large paintings while Tommy watched, Lucia stopped a moment to say, "It would have been a sight to behold: Tommy Shelby becoming a married man. It still makes me laugh. Tommy Shelby becoming a _father_. I nearly thought the world was coming to an end when I first heard."

Before Lucia could ask where his son was in such a big house, Tommy was approached with news of an urgent phone call from Ada. "I'll be back," he assured her before disappearing down the stairs toward his office.

Lucia continued down the halls, up the narrow stairwells, and peeked into rooms. The richness of the home was overwhelming. It was an uncomfortable and a stark contrast to her small flat in Birmingham or the seaside cottage in Sicily. Lucia's fingers grazed down the walls. She was thinking of Grace. The previous Mrs. Shelby had probably walked down the same halls and noticed the chips at the base of marble columns at the end of the halls. Lucia felt dirtiness at the very thought of replacing her.

A door stood ajar and Lucia couldn't help but stick her head through. The room was filled with light with a small bed adjusted against one wall. Pushing the door further open, Lucia made a beeline to the window. This room overlooked the front of the house, down where the green grass blanketed the property.

"Who are you?"

Lucia spun in a surprise to see a small boy with a mop of blonde hair. Just like his mother. He looked curiously up at her without a shadow of fear. Just like his father.

"I'm Lucia. Just a friend of your dad," she said with a friendly smile. "What have you got there in your hand?"

Charlie brought his hand out from behind his back to show her a wooden horse. Crooning at it as you would with any child's prized toy, Lucia sat down when he came closer so she could get a better look.

"I'll bet you carved this yourself." Lucia gave him an impressed nod.

He shook his head, a grin spread across his soft face. "Noo," he insisted, turning the wooden toy around to proudly show Lucia how he'd scribbled his name on the belly of the horse with jagged lettering.

"Very handsome _and_ very smart." Lucia placed the toy back into his little fingers. "What an accomplished young man you are! I bet you're at least seven years old!

"Nooo," Charlie giggled and held up his age, "I'm only four!"

"Four?" Lucia gasped in feigned surprise and clapped a hand to one side of her face. "No! It can't be!"

"It's true," he continued giggling and held up his toy again. "This is a horse and they're my favorite animal! My dad has lots!"

"Oh yeah? Did you know I got your dad a horse once?"

Charlie's blue eyes widened.

"She was brown and ran like the wind!"

"You got my dad _Soffocare Sulle Sigarette_?" His tongue tripped over the pronunciation of the Italian words but Lucia was both charmed by his attempt and surprised by the name: Choke On Cigarettes. It was a fitting name for that Anglo-Arabian racehorse. When she nodded, Charlie wiggled excitedly, took her by the hand, and pulled her toward the door. "Let's go see her! She'll remember you!"

As Charlie guided her down the halls, Lucia couldn't help but share his excitement in rushing down to the meet the horses. At the bottom of the stairs, he released her hand and ran ahead out the side door where the stables were. Stable boys heaved hay at the ends of rakes into each stall where Tommy's many horses stood with their ears cocking and their tails flicking to and fro.

Charlie stopped at the stall at the end of the row, pointing up at the chestnut mare. She stood tall and bored but dropped her nose down to Charlie when he came close enough.

"She's my favorite," Charlie said. He stroked the mare's velvety nose softly and respectfully. The love in his bright blue eyes for the animal was the spitting image of Tommy. Lucia, still standing behind Charlies, drank up the beautiful sight.

Soon after, Tommy finished a trying conversation with Ada who insisted he join John, Arthur, and Polly for a Christmas dinner. Making note to have his own table filled on Christmas, Tommy searched through the house for Lucia.

It was only when he passed a window at the end of the hall did he see her at the stable with Charlie. His son was propped in her arms as they both moved on from the chestnut mare and visited the other horses down the row. Though he stood stone-faced looking down through the window, Tommy Shelby's chest brimmed with pride, love, happiness...He couldn't pinpoint which one it was.

That night, Charlie begrudgingly followed the housekeeper, Frances, to bed but not before he made Lucia promise to play with him the next day. With a parting hug and pat on his cheek, Lucia made her promise.

"He's just like you," she remarked to Tommy once Charlie had gone. "He looks just like you. Loves the horses just like you."

Tommy took a mental photograph of the happiness plastered on her face. "You don't regret coming back, then?"

"No," Lucia drifted across the room and adjusted herself against him contentedly. "But it is still early," she teased.

Several moments passed in silence. It was reminiscent of their comfortable silences under the carob tree watching the sunrise over the Tyrrhenian Sea. The fire crackled under the mantle and the smell of the wood soon filled the room.

"Do you remember," Lucia began to reminisce, "when you'd take me to the carnival and afterwards the Lees would build a large fire? I loved those bonfires. It always made the cold nights much happier."

"What _I_ remember from those carnivals is you taking a swing at those poor blokes after calling 'em 'Shelta speaking bastards.'"

The amusement in Tommy's voice wasn't lost on Lucia but she insisted on defending herself. "They called me a fuckin' macaroni, Tom! Macaroni!" She repeated the word even though it left a bad taste in her mouth the first time around. "Might have been fine in the trenches during a bloody war but I'm not even partial to _maccheroni_. And I did nothing to incite it."

"If you weren't such an angry maca -" Tommy's breath was cut short by a hard smack to his chest. Though he tried pulling Lucia back onto the couch next to him, she wriggled out of his arms and stalked up the stairs, Tommy trailing behind trying both to assuage her anger and stifle his own laughter.

"Shelta-speakin' bastard," Lucia muttered as she awkwardly meandered faster and faster through the halls to avoid him catching up. "Call me that one more time, Tommy, and I'll throw a swing at you!"

"Better be a promise, Luc!"

Lucia found herself at a dead end and turned to face Tommy head on. Before she could formulate another threat at his expense, he had coiled an arm around her waist and brought his lips firmly against hers. Drowning into him, all Lucia could do to stay afloat was to hold on.

Pulling back to observe her reaction, Tommy couldn't help but whisper, "I've waited a very long time to do that."

"If you do it again," Lucia feigned disinterest though there was a twinkle of desire in her eyes, "I'll consider forgiving you and your kin for the macaroni comments."

"Fair enough."

Eyes widened with affection, Lucia went up on her toes to kiss him again. She felt at home pressed against his body, shivering under the graze of his fingertips down her spine. Tommy Shelby was extraordinary. He was easy to drown into, but Lucia was careful not to be consumed by him this time around.

But Tommy touched her differently. He looked at her differently. It was almost as if he had been swallowed whole instead. Time slowed down with her. There was no rush to reach the nearest bed, no rush to rip off each other's clothes, no race to reach that mind-shattering pleasure. Instead, the world melted away until it was just Tommy Shelby and Lucia Changretta together at last.

"Tommy?"

"Lucia."

"In Sicily, you said there was a place for me right next to you. That's the whole reason I came back with you. But, I'm not going to be a passive spectator anymore." Her face hardened. "I was born into this life, and I have no trouble following through like John and Arthur. I can help you."

Tommy hesitated and she noticed. "I don't want you to get hurt."

"Tom," Lucia snorted incredulously, "you have hurt me more than a bullet ever could. Did you really expect me to come here to be your quiet little housewife? That didn't go well for you the first time around. I will _not_ stand behind you to catch you if you fall. I'm going to stand right next to you and we're going to fall together. If you don't agree to my terms, I'm going back to Sicily and I will shoot you dead if I see you again." She locked her jaw. "Are we in agreement?"

"I'm not losing you again."

"All I need you to say is yes."

"Yes." The word felt dry in Tommy's mouth. "But you need to have a gun on you at all times."

"Obviously." Biting her lower lip with a wicked glimmer in her eyes, Lucia dragged her hands down his chest before pulling out the gun he kept in shoulder holster. "I like this one."

"Fine," Tommy ceded. "You got what you wanted. Now come to bed with me. It's late."

"I can't."

"What do you mean?"

Lucia made a weak gesture toward his room. "That's your marriage bed. It wouldn't be right."

Understanding, Tommy cupped her face between his large hands and leaned down to meet her eyes. "Oh love," he commiserated, "we'll have to change that, eh?"

"You really shouldn't rush into things you're not good at, Tom," Lucia quipped, removing his hands from her face. "I'll tell you _if_ I want you to propose."

Tommy snorted and followed it with a smile that could break your heart. "When did you get so bossy?"

"When I realized that you can't afford to lose me." She paused. "You're mine, Tommy Shelby. And I'm yours. We'll do it right this time around, yeah?" He nodded. "Come to bed with me?"

Tommy was consumed from head to toe. Struck by the thunderbolt, indeed. Every step he took after her felt like another weight lifted from his shoulders. With her by his side, he was untouchable. There would be no pressure to go legitimate. Tommy could plunge into the depths and Lucia would plunge with him.

"I want to have a proper Christmas dinner in a few days," Tommy offered into the darkness as they stretched out under cool blankets. "Invite the Lees, have a bonfire for you."

"You'd better tell those Lee boys to watch their tongue." Lucia rolled closer to him. "Tell them I have a gun now."

"Aye, they'll think twice before calling you a macaroni," Tommy couldn't contain his laughter as he said the dreaded word, and Lucia desperately tried to push him out of the bed, muttering what a bastard he was. He stayed firmly in place, waiting until she gave up with a huff. "All ruddy and angry, you are, Luc. I'll give those lads fair warning."

Comfortably falling asleep under the same covers as Tommy Shelby, Lucia woke up to the sound of the room door clicking open and little feet scampering around the bed. Through the dim moonlight streaming through the window, Lucia lifted her sleepy head to see a familiar figure approach her.

"Charlie?"

"I had a nightmare," he trembled, close to tears.

"Oh, my darling," Lucia, instantly protective, lifted her sheets and snuggly tucked Charlie in against her. "You're safe. I'll look after you."

When Tommy awoke the next morning to see his son peacefully asleep and holding Lucia's hand, his heart nearly doubled in his chest. It was a beautiful image. Leaning closer, he peppered soft kisses along her arm until her eyes fluttered open.

"Come with me."

Although groggy and sore from laying still all night so as to not disturb Charlie, Lucia gently pried the toddler's grip from her hand then carefully scooted herself to the edge of the bed while Tommy watched at the door. Once she had cleared the bed without waking Charlie, Tommy took her by the hand and pulled her in the hall.

"What's wrong?" Lucia rubbed her eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight streaming from the windows. "What's happened?"

Tommy drifted closer and placed his hand against the wall by her head. She squinted cautiously, pressed against the wall in moments. A silken smile pulling at the corners of his pink lips.

"Why you smilin', Tom?" She was more alert now, nonplussed. The affection in his eyes and the silence of his lips had piqued her curiosity.

His smile grew. "I adore you."

Lucia frowned. "You woke me up to tell me _that_?"

Tommy placed his hand on the other side of her head, locking her in, almost cooing her name "Lucia."

"Will you keep me up longer to say more things I already know?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm tryin' to romance you, you -"

Lucia smacked his chest before he could finish the sentence and began sticking a finger into his face. "I swear to _fuck_ , Tommy, if you say macaroni -"

"I love you."

 _That_ jolted her to her senses.

"I love you," Tommy ardently repeated, lowering his arms to pull her closer. "I need you. I need your help with everything. The whole fuckin' thing. Fuckin' life." His breath caressed her face. "I found you and you found me. It took me so long to see it and I'm sorry."

Fighting off the urge to say something clever, all Lucia could do was close the gap between them and tuck her head under his chin. His heart pounded rapidly in his chest.

"I'm going to marry you, Lucia." It wasn't a promise. It was a certainty. "Make you Mrs. Shelby, eh?"

Lucia pulled back enough to be able to look him in the eye. "You'll marry me when I say so. Someone ought to keep you in check, Tommy Shelby."

"Hmmm," Tommy grinned. "And that's your job, is it? To keep me in check?"

She squared her shoulders. "Nobody else seems able to."

Tommy Shelby took it as a challenge. "Come here," he growled and lifted her off her feet, over his shoulder.

"Is this part of your romancing, Tom?" Lucia laughed, wrapping her legs around his waist to keep herself from keeling over.

Tommy threw her onto his bed, loving the way she was splayed over his sheets. He took a step back to brace himself and it came on him like a freight train - the eternal calm as she stared back at him. Tommy Shelby knew in those few seconds it took for his eyes to lock with hers that she was all he needed and that she was all he had ever wanted. Before Greta, before Grace. It had always been her.

Crawling over her body, Tommy was slow at first. Gentle. He raised his hand to push his fingers through her hair, dragging her head back and kissing her softly - it made the lingering emptiness within the dark crevices of his soul hurt less to do so.

Tommy's fingers pulled the hem of her nightgown over her head until she was bare under him. He desperately spread hot, damp kisses across her breasts and stomach - eyes squeezed shut. He put all his attention on her because she was the most beautiful, important thing to him. He needed her to know. And Lucia was shaking under him. Her body was shaking and bucking and she was trying to find anything to hold onto, because Tommy Shelby wasn't even inside of her yet and she was already dizzy with need. His name was a shallow moan in her throat.

Tommy smiled, sliding his hands down her side and finding her thighs to pull up over his hip. The roughness of his skin against her soft inner thigh made Lucia gasp, arching against him. "I want to stay with you forever," he rasped, love and passion and heat dripping from his voice. "I've wanted you so much I can't breathe," he rocked against her, still murmuring, catching her soft moan of response with his mouth. Tommy rested his forehead on hers for a moment, eyes meeting, before turning his head to kiss her palm and the inside of her wrist.

Lucia sucked in a sharp breath, unable to think straight and unable to navigate how lost he made her feel. He was half-clothed but she already felt like she was about to implode. And when his hands ran up her waist, the sides of her breasts, taking her wrists and pinning them over her head, Lucia Changretta was so sure she would explode from the inside out.

"What do you want, Luc?"

She moaned, squirming, and digging her nails into his smooth back. "Tommy" she whimpered, "please…"

He smirked, "please what? Tell me what you want, Luc..."

Through half-lidded eyes, Lucia fought to string together a coherent thought, managing only a soft, breathless, "Tommy… I want you. Only you. Always you. All of you. Everywhere…please…"

Her eyes drifted shut and she felt his hard body ease back against her again - the seconds felt like an eternity. And something in his touch was different in those long moments. Opening her eyes, Lucia looked up at him and her breath hitched as she wrapped her legs around him, feeling him slowly push himself inside of her, groaning at how warm she felt. And then he started to rock against her, steady and resolute, kissing her everywhere, the crook of his arm snaking under her neck to keep her head from hitting the bed frame, fingers grappling a handful of her hair.

Tommy took his time. He wanted to enjoy it for as long as he could. He wanted to take in every single beautiful detail, every beautiful sensation, and tuck it away. Tommy watched as Lucia fought to convey words but failed through moans and sighs and gasps – only able to say his name as he pushed her closer and closer.

And Tommy loved it. Every second of it. Lucia's nails scratched at his skin, and when she cried out – sinking into the rush of pleasure – she clutched onto him until her knuckles went white. Seconds later, Tommy groaned her name before collapsing beside her, his body shaking. And for a moment, everything seemed to make sense to him. He felt like he had just passed the core of his soul to her and he didn't want it back. He could barely speak…could barely feel how numb he was to the sound of her rough, satisfied breath at the nape of his neck.

Tommy said, "I love you" and the world didn't stop.

There was no shattering of the Earth or fragmenting of space and time; no fireworks raining down from the heavens. He said, "I love you" and it felt the same as not saying it. Lucia was still pressed against his side, still breathing steadily, quiet and warm—the same as before.

He didn't feel any different either—didn't have the sudden urge to knock back a glass of whiskey or take her out for long walks in the moonlight. He felt normal - as though he'd known about this—this thing for too long now to be surprised that it'd finally clawed its way up to the surface.

He stared at the ceiling, still breathing steadily—the same as before.

But when Lucia said, "I love you too" the world stopped a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview for chapter 7:
> 
> "Anything important in the post today, Frances?" Tommy asked over his shoulder with a glass of whiskey poised in his hand.
> 
> "Only a letter from America, sir," the housekeeper replied.


	7. The Black Hand

Though Tommy had fielded several calls from Ada asking him to make amends with his family for Christmas, he was resolute to keep his distance. It wasn't Lucia's place to sway him either way so she would give him a shrug when he put the phone back into its receiver and briefly looked to her for an answer.

"I can't, Luc," he would say.

"I know," she would reply.

The afternoon Tommy received the Black Hand, they had been decorating the Christmas tree with Charlie. Charlie would pick each ornament, carefully inspect it, then he would hand it up to either Lucia or Tommy with strict instructions on where it should go on the green boughs. Tommy and Lucia would exchange a look whenever they were chastised for hanging an ornament just an inch out of place. They hung the tinsel and red, green, and white beads. Finally, Tommy lifted his son up to crown the tree with a golden star. Charlie's smile nearly split his face in two.

When Frances came in to drop a bundle of letters onto Tommy's desk, she couldn't help but smile at the sight. It had been a hard few years since the death of Mrs. Shelby, and even harder still when the extended family were hauled away in police wagons and never came back. Little Charlie had been so lonely without his mother, his father, and his family. Many nights in a row Frances would hold his hand as he slept - his sweet face stained with tears. So, when Mr. Shelby went out of the country for a few weeks, her heart nearly broke for Charlie. But now, glimpsing at the way Lucia cuddled Charlie by the fire with Mr. Shelby watching from the couch, Frances couldn't have been happier.

"Anything important in the post today, Frances?" Tommy asked over his shoulder with a glass of whiskey poised in his hand.

"Only a letter from America, sir," Frances replied and quietly left the room. The elation filling Frances' chest only for a few hours until Lucia, carrying Charlie in her arms, approached her quickly.

Lucia transferred the child into the waiting arms of the housekeeper and calmly said, "Frances, I need you to take Charlie to his room and lock the door. Don't open it for anyone except Mr. Shelby or me."

Nearly running up the stairs, Frances cast a final glimpse down at Lucia just in time to see her hurry towards the office.

* * *

After decorating the Christmas tree, Lucia and Charlie had walked hand in hand down to the kitchen to collect little biscuits and cakes to leave on the hearth for Santa. The short trip down the hall and a narrow stairwell to the kitchen proved to be a long one with a four year old. Charlie wanted to stop by every painting, flower arrangement, and mirror to have Lucia lift him up for a closer look. By the time they reached the kitchen, Lucia was exhausted and ready to grab a bottle of whiskey just for herself.

Charlie burst into the kitchen and straight toward the larder while Lucia lingered with the four men working on Christmas dinner preparations. She was surprised by how small the kitchen was. There were tall brick walls with only a narrow rectangle for a window at the ceiling which allowed a thin stream of light into the dim room.

"Mrs. Shelby," the chef nodded his head in greeting and continued to julienne vegetables with a steady hand.

Half inclined to correct him, Lucia thought better of it and obliged a smile. Her attention moved to one assistant who plucked feathers from a chicken. He looked no older than sixteen. Meandering toward the back of the room, Lucia saw the last two men - Italians with the same dark hair and olive skin as her - doubled over a large bucket of potatoes, cigarettes dangling from the corners of their lips.

"Hello," she tilted her head down to catch a better look at their faces. "Are you doing well?"

Grimly, they both nodded without looking up. "Yes, yes," they muttered as though they couldn't understand her.

The gruffness in their voices startled alarm bells in Lucia's mind. Careful not to show her discomfort, she craned her neck around the corner into the larder to call Charlie out just as any doting mother would. "Quickly now, my darling."

While the two Italians used paring knives to peel potatoes, Lucia noticed a larger dagger tucked in the shadow of their shoes, nearly hidden by the bucket. She quickly dragged her eyes away, beginning to feel like a hunted deer under the tall brick walls that surrounded them, They were part of the _Mano Nera_. The Black Hand.

"Thank you all for working so hard," she began in a saccharine sweet voice. "I'll ask Mr. Shelby if you can go home to your families earlier this Christmas." Lucia desperately hoped they wouldn't detect the tremble in her words. The chef, still working on the large wooden island, nodded politely.

Moments later, Charlie emerged from the larder holding out the hem of his jumper so it formed a small pocket to carry the best seed cakes and biscuits for Santa. Crumbs clung to the corners of his lips as he marched forward. Lucia ushered him out of the kitchen, genially apologizing to the men for the intrusion.

Once they were halfway up the stairs to the main level and out of sight, Lucia snatched Charlie up, crushing the sweets he had lovingly picked, and nearly sprinted toward Tommy's office. Charlie was half in tears when he looked down to see the crumbled biscuits falling from his jumper as he was transferred to Frances's arms.

"Frances," Lucia caught her breath and willed herself to hold her composure, "I need you to take Charlie to his room and lock the door. Don't open it for anyone except me or Mr. Shelby."

Making sure the housekeeper began up the stairs with the precious cargo, Lucia hurried to Tommy's office and made a beeline for the large cabinet hidden in the paneled walls near his desk. She faced down several rows of magazines, pistols, and the different machine guns stored inside before deciding on a rifle. It was what she was most comfortable with.

Despite having his office barged into, Tommy hadn't made a sound. He couldn't tear his eyes from the Christmas card he had received. From Luca Changretta. Meeting Lucia's eyes as she finished loading a magazine into her rifle, Tommy turned the Christmas card down to show her the black hand pressed to the paper. Anticipating panic, Tommy was surprised to see no change came over her face.

She cocked the slide of the rifle. "There are two in your kitchen right now."

Tommy grabbed his gun and started for the door, Lucia following close behind. "Charlie?" he asked.

"With Frances, in his room. One has a knife, the other has a pistol. Italians. Probably Sabini's men."

"No." Tommy paused at the top of the stairs which led down to the kitchen. "Your brother."

She nodded and readjusted her grip along the heavy rifle. Despite all her boasting about being born into the life of the _Cosa Nostra_ , Lucia had never killed a man. She had seen men tortured, beaten, and killed. But never by her own hand. The panic Tommy had earlier anticipated now glimmered in Lucia's eyes. "I can't afford to miss then."

Before Lucia took her position next to the kitchen door to charge in, Tommy pulled her to the side. "I love you," he reminded, yanking her in for a final kiss. "I'll see you after?"

"You will." Lucia placed a comforting hand on his chest and took her place.

On Tommy's signal, she burst through the kitchen door, made aim at one of the Italian men who had reached for his knife, and pulled the trigger. The recoil made her stumble back. With a horrible scream the first man clutched his bloodied chest with his free hand. The second man, having hidden a gun inside the tub of potatoes, had grabbed it and retreated into the larder, Tommy quick on his heels.

Lucia tentatively approached the man she had shot. The chef and young assistant cowered against the walls. "Get out." Her eyes darted between them and the man with the knife. "Get out!" Once they had sprinted out of the room, she addressed the man, "Ti ha mandato mio fratello?" _Did my brother send you?_

The man braced himself against the wall. "Traditrice!" He had heaved his body forward with his arms extended, swinging the knife toward her.

Caught off guard by the ferocity with which he threw himself, Lucia nearly collided with the wooden island still covered in vegetables. Using the buttend of her rifle, she attempted to block the knife strokes which swiped toward her in quick succession. But the wounded man was still much stronger than she was. Lucia continued to stumble back away from him - wanting to be far enough to regain her head and get a better hold of the rifle to take another shot.

The man leaned against the wooden tabletop, catching his stolen breath for a moment, with a hand still pressed against the red wound spreading across his chest. The arm which held the knife was poised to attack again. "Sei un traditore della tua famiglia! Una vergogna! Luca impreca il giorno in cui ti ha chiamata sorella." _You are a traitor to your family! A disgrace! Luca curses the day he called you sister._

A traitor. A disgrace. Her family was ashamed of her.

This stranger standing before her was reopening old wounds that Sicily had healed into scars and scars Tommy had tenderly kissed.

The injustice of it all weighed heavy on Lucia's shoulders and she wondered if she should choose her death right now. Though she had enough room and had extended the gun towards him, Lucia hesitated.

"Go ahead and kill me! You're just a whore running after gypsies. Shelby should have killed you to spare us the shame." His eyes were bright with contempt and hatred as his heavy footfalls approached, continuing to taunt, "Ti taglierò la gola per liberare la tua famiglia dalla vergogna di chiamarti figlia." _I'm going to slit your throat to rid your family the shame of calling you a daughter._

Lucia pulled the trigger again and the sound of the bullet tearing through his already mangled flesh was enough to make her sick. The man fell back onto the dirty floor, the knife dropping from his white knuckles and blood pouring from his mouth.

She reached down to take hold of the dagger of the Black Hand. A drop of blood was carved into the wooden handle. Lucia stood over the man as he lay dying under her. Gripping a handful of his hair, she stepped on one of his arms and yanked his head up, positioning the dagger to the soft of his neck.

"Pray," she ordered.

"Vaffanculo!" _Fuck you!_

"PRAY!" Lucia screamed into his ear, pressing the blade firmly into his neck.

Coughing through the blood, he began, "Our Father - " but Lucia slashed the blade though his vocal cords before he could finish. Blood sprayed from his throat across her face from the crude cut.

"Lucia?" Tommy called out.

She scrambled to her feet, holding onto the countertops to keep from slipping in blood, and ran toward the larder. The sight she faced was horrific. Blood covered the tabletops and the floor. The second man's body lay in a pool of blood - a meat hook lodged through his collarbone. Tommy's bullet had blown off half his skull.

Tommy stood across the room soaked in blood across his sleeves and his face, just as she was. With bated breath, Lucia stepped into the horrific scene. "Tommy?"

"Are you hurt?"

She shook her head. Relieved, Tommy leaned in to bring his forehead against hers, looking into the warmth of her eyes. _Suspended_.

He wrapped his arms around her, exhausted and battered, tucking her head under his chin. "I need to call Johnny Dogs. He'll get rid of the bodies. We're going back to Small Heath."

"What about your family?"

He took her by the hand and began toward the door. "I'll tell Michael to get everyone out."

"Charlie can't see us like this, Tommy."

"I know. I'll call Johnny and Michael. You tell Frances to get Charlie ready and we'll get cleaned up. Yeah?"

Lucia nodded. She refused to look at the man whose throat she had cut on the way out.

* * *

Lucia sat on the edge of the bathtub in a daze. Her shoes had tracked bloodstains up the stairs. It had soaked down to her stockings and now there were bloody footprints across the pristine white tiled floors of the bathroom. Staring down at her shaking fingers, Lucia tried her best to wash the dried blood from her fingernails. The murky brown water disappeared down the pipes as quickly as the light had disappeared from the eyes of the man she had killed. She was numbed by the thought.

The bedroom door groaned open and Tommy's heavy footsteps followed.

"Did you call them?" She turned away from her reflection.

"I've told Arthur but I can't reach John. Michael is going to his place now." Tommy swiped the palm of his hand over the crusted blood across his face then started unbuttoning his shirt. "I'm proud of you, you know."

"Are you?" was Lucia's tired response. She rolled down her stockings and slipped out of her skirt, lost in such a powerful haze that her fingers stopped working altogether.

"I am," he gently undid the buttons that went down the front of her blouse and pulled the ribbons holding her brassiere in place. "It's easy to point a gun and shoot a man." The blouse fell from her shoulders in a ugly brown lump by their feet. "It's another thing to look a man in the eye when killing him. It'll get easier over time."

"Was that what the war was like?" She gestured down toward the kitchen. "Being so close when you kill them?"

Tommy didn't answer immediately. His own clothes were peeled off and added to the same ugly brown lump on the floor. "It was," he finally admitted, stepping under the showerhead and holding his hand out to help her in.

The warm water slowly chipped away at the blood, sweat, and numbing coldness. Tommy held Lucia tight, easing her through the aftermath of her first murder. He tenderly scrubbed the blood from her arms then her neck and then her face, stopping often to plant a kiss on her nose or her jaw or her cheeks. In his heart, Tommy Shelby wanted to see the sparkle again in her eyes but he knew, better than anyone, that it would never come back.

"You're alright," he whispered, "I'll take care of you."

"The man I killed...he said you should have killed me to spare my family the shame."

He wiped the tear from her face. "You're my family now."

Lucia met his eyes, drowning in the love he had hidden away. "You'll protect me?"

"With my life." Tommy assured.

Once in fresh clothes, Lucia packed the presents under the tree into a sack while Tommy carried Charlie out to the Bentley with a bag full of weapons. As Lucia was about to step out into the cold December night, the phone on Tommy's desk rattled and rang.

"Hello?" she cautiously spoke into the receiver.

Esme was on the other end.

* * *

**Preview for chapter 8:**

"How's my sister?" Luca drawled. "She'll make a good wife. Quiet, obedient, passive."

Tommy snorted at the idea. "You don't know your sister."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts and any areas I can improve moving forward :)


	8. Bound in Blood

Lucia Changretta stared out to the foggy streets of Small Heath. It was hours until dawn and she hadn't slept a wink since a scrape of paper was slipped under the back door. On it, in small lettering, was scrawled a time and place. Signed, Luca Changretta.

Michael was recovering from his wounds in hospital, and Polly Gray didn't miss any chances to spit curses toward Lucia through the house. The loving mother-figure role that Polly used to be had disappeared. And Lucia understood. She was no longer a replacement child for Polly. Polly had her son - there was nobody else more important than him in her eyes.

So, while Tommy went out on business, Lucia spent her sleepless days following close behind Charlie, falling into a loving motherly role. It was the role meant for Italian women: to be wives, mothers, and sisters. Nothing more and nothing less. Vincente Changretta held a soft spot for his daughter - allowing her to live away from the family with a healthy allowance of money - but with this freedom came an even stronger expectation to repay in duty and obligation. He had expected Lucia to seal a family alliance with the Shelby's since she was so keen on jumping in bed with Tommy. When she failed to do so, her role was reduced to marry, procreate, and stay silent with whatever secrets she knew of the family business.

But Lucia could never be _just_ a wife, mother, and sister. She could never be happy benefiting from a system where her duty was silence. Inaction. Stagnation.

She had been attracted to Tommy Shelby because when he looked at her he didn't see a wife and mother; he saw a wild thing. He saw a wild thing and he was happy to set her loose. With him, Lucia was free. She could just _be_. He had given her the chance to exist without the pressures of fitting a traditional role passed down from generation to generation, following a set of guidelines that, if followed, would keep you in the safe folds of _real_ family. A family born in blood and bound by it. Even in the _Cosa Nostra_ , the Sicilian Mafia, family was the value which held the most importance above all else. It meant sacrifice, loyalty, trust. It still meant something to the proud Sicilians on the streets of Birmingham.

The _Cosa Nostra_ had many rules: You had to be loyal to your Don and your fellow brothers within the organization. You had to be rational; don't catch a fight you can't win. You had to keep your honor. You had to show courage and strength in the face of adversity - 'if you can't pay, don't play', Vincente always said. You had to be street-smart; have some class. And finally, you had to keep the oath of silence, _omertà_.

While women, sweet and incapable of following through with the vigorous business of the _Cosa Nostra_ as they are, were excluded from these rules, Lucia had kept it in her heart anyways. Once you become a man of honor, there was no going back, no leaving the life you swore yourself to, no breaking the vows of silence. Lucia, born into the _Cosa Nostra_ , had taken her vows when she drew her first breath out from her mother's womb in the foothills of Sicily. She was the daughter of its soil, after all.

But the moment Lucia had invited Tommy Shelby under her little cottage on the hills over the Tyrrhenian Sea, she had broken those vows.

Lucia Changretta stared through the fog for so long that she didn't realize Tommy was studying her profile from where he lay on the bed. He sat up, careful not to wake Charlie, and instinctively reached for his cigarette tin.

"It's too early to smoke," Lucia gently dissuaded from where she stood.

Tommy's hand dropped to his side. "It's too early for you to be awake." He hoped to pull a curl of annoyance across her pursed lips. When she didn't react, standing still and solemn, he joined her by the window. His fingers grazed over the warmth of her stomach under her thin sleeping gown. He coiled a comforting arm around her waist and tucked his chin against the curve of her shoulder. "What are you thinking so hard about?"

"About how this is all going to end."

"And how will it all end?"

"Badly."

Settling into another silence, Lucia slowly guided him into a chair at one side of the room. Taking his gun and knife from the bedside table, Lucia reverently placed both weapons into each of his hands and sat on her heels before him.

Tommy watched closely as she pricked the tip of her finger with the blade and dropped a bead of blood on the gun and on the knife. "This blood," she earnestly looked up to his eyes, "means that we are now one Family. We will live by the gun and the knife and we will die by the gun and the knife. _Sono tuo, furiosamente e per sempre_. I'm yours, furiously and forever."

It was an oath of loyalty, love, and marriage all in one. She was renewing her vows, realigning her allegiance.

"Tommy," his name left her parted lips like a wisp of cloud. "Luca will fight this vendetta with honor. But he and I have unfinished business - hey! Look at me." Tommy shifted uncomfortably in the chair and Lucia forced his attention back to her. "My brother and I have business. When he comes to you today, tomorrow, whenever - and he _will_ come to you - you tell him," her face grew serious, "that it's going to me. Not you. Not Arthur. Not Polly. _Me._ "

* * *

Just as Lucia said, Luca Changretta did come swaggering into Tommy's factory office standing tall in his immaculately tailored suit. Tommy squared his shoulders to study the resemblance the man standing before him held with Lucia - The hair, the eyes, the quiet dignity in every step. The same ferocity flickered in the eyes of the Changretta's.

"How's my sister?" Luca drawled as he took a seat at the head of the long table.

"My wife," Tommy noticed the quirk of Luca's eyebrows at his words, "is happy and she's safe."

Luca mused a moment before standing, adjusting the lapels of his suit carefully. "She'll make a good wife. Quiet, obedient, passive."

"You don't know your sister." A rankle of pride spread across Tommy's face. He couldn't help but snort at the notion. Loud, rowdy, and fierce are the words Tommy would have used.

Luca feigned amusement but his face hardened and the line between his eyes deepened. "Instead of sending you a black hand, I could've had you killed in the night. I wanna suggest to you that we fight this vendetta with honor."

Tommy nodded in agreement. "No civilians. No children."

"No police." Luca buttoned his jacket and tilted his head in inquiry. "Did Luci tell you it would be her? She's never killed a man before. How could she put a bullet through my head?"

Tommy was careful not to counter the slight. Lucia would no longer be a civilian if her brother knew she slit the throat of one of her brother's men. That information stayed between them.

Barking a baleful laugh at Tommy's grim silence, Luca finished, "I know _my_ sister. And she knows how this vendetta will end. I'm seeing her now. We have an agreement."

When the door to his office rattled shut, Tommy released the heavy breath he had held in for the entire encounter. He quickly threw on his coat and ran to his car. Rushing to Watery Lane, the house was quiet when he entered. He veered past the empty chairs and tables calling Lucia's name, ascending up the stairs to his room. Panic began to set in when he found no one.

"Charlie!" The silence was deafening.

Frantic now, Tommy flew out the door and almost bashed Arthur's door off its hinges. It was Linda who answered.

"Where's Charlie?"

"Out back with Ada and Karl," she adjusted her own child on her hip.

"And Lucia?"

A deep line of concern set on Linda's face. Though she wasn't happy with the Peaky Blinders or how Lucia's presence increased the threat to the family, even she could see Lucia was a victim in the vendetta "She left in a hurry. Said she had business on Wolseley Street. She left hours ago." Linda called to his back when he hurried toward his car, "What's wrong?"

"They're coming for her!"

* * *

Lucia dangled her legs over the edge of the Cut, cigarette in hand, and watched her breath escape in a puff of cloud. She knew her brother would find her. He had been watching her since she lived in Sicily. His men were always hiding around the corner and peering over newspapers. Revenge was inevitable, but Lucia didn't anticipate her brother would strike as soon as she came back. She would have done the same if she had been born a man.

After almost two hours smoking through her tin of cigarettes, Lucia heard brisk footsteps against the cobblestone approaching her. She didn't look back. "Are you going to shoot me? You might as well. I'm right here."

The footsteps stopped close behind and her brother's low voice echoed down the canals. It sent chills down to the base of her spine. "Our mother forbade it. Plus, no matter what you did, you're still family."

She laughed bitterly and twisted back. "You don't believe that. _Nobody_ has believed that."

"Sorellina," Luca grinned down the curve of nose at her, sweeter than molasses. _Baby sister._ He extended his arms out and waited for her to step into his embrace.

Incredulously, Lucia tamped her cigarette under her heel and greeted her brother with a kiss on each cheek. "You sound different."

"Well," Luca made a dismissive gesture with his hand, dragging his words out like he had all the time in the world, "I've been in America for a very long time."

"And is America the land of milk and honey like they say?"

Luca raised a finger knowingly. "It's a land of opportunity. There's good money to be made in bootlegging. You should have come with me all those years ago. There are good men from good Sicilian families. But you threw that all away, for what, Luci? A fuckin' gypsy?"

Scoffing, Lucia took a step back and searched her older brother's eyes. "You didn't come here to lecture me on my life choices. So, just get it over with, Luca. You're not going to kill me, so guilt me into killing myself, eh?"

He stayed silent a moment too long for comfort so Lucia plowed forward to fill the empty air between them.

"If you were here, you would have done the same thing, Luca. You wouldn't have allowed Angel to walk the town with a woman like Lizzie Stark, and you wouldn't have let him go to Thomas Shelby's wedding! Papà didn't listen to me and _that_ is why he is dead!" Lucia was angry now and didn't try to hide it. She was angerier still by how calm and composed her older brother remained. "We walked into a fight that destroyed our family - a fight we knew we would lose - all because Angel imagined himself in love. He and papà weren't weren't rational! We were taught _never_ to fall into a fight we couldn't win. I went to the Shelbys because I would rather Angel's heart break than our family disappear. So don't you dare tell me I betrayed you."

Luca considered what she had said and finally nodded in agreement. "I would have done the same. That, I can forgive. But," his voice grew darker, "you're in bed with Tommy Shelby. You've bound yourself to him in blood. And _that_ I cannot forgive." He walked up to her, fishing through his pockets, "I have five bullets left. I'm coming for the rest of them, sorellina. Ada Thorne, Polly Gray, Michael Gray, Arthur Shelby and," he showed her the single remaining bullet in the palm of his hand, "Tommy Shelby will be last. Our mother said that is what will hurt him the most." Luca looked over her head to scan the canals. "Give me your hands, little Luci."

Lucia leaned away from her brother but he grabbed her wrists and began binding them together with a rope. "Luca." Her voice was soft and tentative. She was frightened.

Before Luca Changretta could turn his sister to face the man she loved, he squeezed her jaw between his fingers, his brown eyes gleaming with the same pointed ferocity Tommy had noticed earlier, and pressed a hard kiss on her cheek.

Lucia went pale. "No," she stumbled back from him. "No, no, no. Luca!"

Luca clamped his hands down on her shoulders and wheeled his sister around forcefully so she could watch Tommy come to an abrupt halt, gun drawn, white in the face by the gesture they had all witnessed. It was the kiss of death.

A sob caught in Lucia's throat when she met his eyes. "Tommy!"

"We agreed, no civilians!"

"She's no civilian!" Luca countered, shoving his sister closer to the edge of the canal.

That stopped Tommy in his tracks. He held his hands up and lowered his gun to the ground, kicking it toward Luca in surrender. "There, I'm not armed. Now let her go."

"This is a family matter."

Despite Lucia fighting against her brother's grip, he held her tightly. She was pulled closer and closer to the edge of the water, anxiously peering down into the darkness.

"Whatever business you have with her, concerns me. She's a Shelby now." Tommy bit his tongue the moment the words flew out.

A wild smirk spread across Luca's face. That was what he wanted to hear. With little effort, Luca Changretta shoved his sister, hands bound, into the Cut.

For Lucia, the seconds before hitting the water was the worst. She couldn't scream. If she had, water would have filled her belly faster. On her descent, Lucia saw her brother defiantly standing in place while Tommy lunged forward. Then she was submerged, suspended. The water had roared past her ears and pressed her deeper down into the Cut. She didn't want to open her eyes. She was too afraid to see all the bodies rotting at the bottom.

Desperately kicking her legs and using her bound arms to reach the surface, Lucia was running out of air. Her lungs began to hurt from the effort. The squirming to loosen the rope around her wrists made it more difficult to breathe. There was just more and more water above as there was below. Lucia was panicking and praying, waiting for Tommy to jump down to her rescue.

Seconds felt like hours. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't reach the surface. Air was running out. Lucia didn't dare to open her mouth - but her eyes slowly opened. The water was black. She had sunk too deep for the light to guide her up.

Her vision dimmed, and the sound of the water against her ears disappeared. There was only a deafening ringing. She couldn't fight anymore.

As her vision blurred and faded into the light, Lucia dreamed of Sicily. The warm sun, the cool waves. Tommy, under the carob tree. She thought of waking up next to him, walking through the dewy garden barefoot, scolding the goats...but those dreams faded until all she saw was white.

Tommy eyes were glued to the unsettled water where Lucia disappeared. He was waiting, praying for her head to break the surface. He had thrown off his coat the second she fell, but Luca quickly snatched the gun from the ground and aimed it at Tommy.

"I'll let you get her." Luca was casual. "You're going to be alive long enough to watch me pick your family off one by one. But Lucia, she'll watch you take a bullet to the head. We are an organization of a different dimension. And my sister went against the Family. It doesn't matter who you are - born in blood, bound in blood, if you turn your back to the _Cosa Nostra_ , you're spent." He discarded the gun into the water with a lazy toss. "Go save your wife while she still has a chance to survive, Mr. Shelby."

Tommy Shelby did not wait for Luca to be out of sight before diving down into the Cut. The water was murky and the sun didn't reach very far. His arms fanned the cold water for her. He continued deeper, desperately trying to squint through the dark water to catch any sight of her. The air supply in his lungs quickly depleted the further down he forced his body to go. Unable to hold his breath any longer. Tommy plunged up to the surface, greedily sucking in air before submerging himself again. His arms, numb with cold, fought against the pressure.

Just as he was about to succumb to the temptation to get more air, his hand hit Lucia's floating body. Holding on tight, he used his last breath to swim up toward the surface. The cold December wind blanketed him, sending aches down Tommy's wet body.

"Come on, Luc," Tommy held onto her arm as he climbed back up to the cobblestone and yanked her up. "You're okay, love." He laid her out and patted her face, hoping it would be enough. Tommy overlaid his hands atop the other and pressed down on her chest - just as he had seen medics do during the war. "We have a long way to go, Luc. Please don't leave me." He leaned down to blow air into her mouth.

With a sudden heave, Lucia nearly fell back into the water as she rolled over gasping and coughing for air. Tommy grabbed her waist just in time and pulled her against him. "You're safe. You're okay."

Lucia looked up at him, shuddering as a barrel of wind blew through the narrow canals. She couldn't talk yet. The taste of the Cut was still in her mouth. Tommy lifted her up, wrapped her in his coat, and slowly started toward his car.

"We'll get you warm, yeah?"

"Yeah." The word hardly passed between her stiff lips.

Tommy helped her into the passenger seat of his Bentley and hurried to avoid the wind that chilled him down to the bone. Looking over at Lucia, shivering and quiet beside him, he reached out to wipe beads of water from the long strands of her hair.

"We might be dead by tomorrow, so I want you to marry me today, Tommy Shelby."

Tommy searched her eyes to make sure she was serious.

The vehicle lurched forward and soon they drove down the roads of Birmingham. They found Jeremiah Jesus and came to a stop in front of St. Michael's on Moor Street. Tommy Shelby and Lucia Changretta stood at the alter soaking wet, their hands both shaking from the walk into the warm church. It was a solemn occasion, and Jeremiah did not bother with the niceties. There was no 'dearly beloved' or 'we've gathered here together to honor this couple's love.'

Tommy looked across the altar at the woman he was about to marry. Her wet hair clung to her throat. It wasn't how he imagined their marriage happening. Lucia should have been in white lace, plumerias decorated in her black hair. Before their reception, he wouldn't have had to remind Arthur, Finn, Isiah, or Johnny Dogs not to fight - because Lucia would have thrown the first punch herself. There wouldn't be any celebration to begin their marriage. Only impending death.

Lucia took the well worn Bible from Jeremiah's hands and leafed through the pages. She wasn't going to waste time with "love is patient, love is kind" or "love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins." She looked up at the man she was about to marry and read aloud.

"'Set me as a seal over your heart, as a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy as enduring as the grave. Its flashes are flashes of fire, the very flame of the LORD. Mighty waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot drown it. If a man would give all the wealth of his house for love, it would be utterly scorned.'"

"Do you, Thomas Michael Shelby, take Lucia Apollonia Changretta to be your lawful wedded -"

Tommy lifted a hand to stop Jeremiah before he could finish. _It doesn't matter who you are - born in blood, bound in blood, if you turn your back to the Cosa Nostra, you're spent_ , Luca had said.

Reaching into his pocket, just as Lucia had done years ago by the same waters he had just pulled her from, Tommy brought out his knife. He pressed his thumb into the blade hard enough to draw blood and held it out to Lucia. She stared down at the knife then back up to Tommy, mouth agape. If death was in their future, they would die together.

It was an oath of loyalty, love, and marriage all in one.

"Bound in blood," he lifted her arm and stained her bottom lip with his blood, "you'll be my wife."

Overwhelmed with emotion, Lucia swiped her thumb along his lips and whispered back, "Bound in blood, you'll be my husband."

He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. All those years of waiting had arrived and, as they tasted the blood on each other's tongue, Tommy and Lucia finally caught up to fate. They finally stood where they were always meant to be: right next to each other.


	9. 1897 - 1926

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: ABUSE, DEPRESSION, SUICIDE & SUICIDAL IDEATIONS FROM POSTPARTUM DEPRESSION
> 
> This chapter will jump through time as Lucia and the Shelby's grow up. For reference:
> 
> Arthur (b. 1887). Tommy (b. 1890), Lucia (b. 1891), Ada (b. 1893), John (b. 1895), and Finn (b. 1908)

_On First Meetings - 1897_

Lucia first stepped foot into the Shelby household when she was six years old. Arthur, a strapping lap of nine, had found her one morning dropping rocks into the Cut alone. She put a rock into Arthur's hands and told him the rules of the game:

Rule 1: Pick the best rocks.

Rule 2: Drop the rocks into the Cut one by one to watch the water splash.

Rule 3: Throw the smallest rock as far as possible. The farthest rock thrown wins. If a rock hits a boat, a barge, or a person, the thrower wins by default.

Lucia was grateful to have met Arthur. She had gotten bored of winning her own game every time. Plus, Arthur was strong enough to carry the bigger rocks up from the railway tracks. He followed her around Birmingham. Between smashing bottles, throwing rocks at innocent passersby, and pinching sweets from shops for John, Arthur and Lucia became inseparable in their shared chaos.

As children, before Finn came into the world, she and the Shelby brothers would barrel through the door during their games of tag or sit at the table to wash water down their parched throats. They would smile mischievously at one another over the brims of their cups, making dares to see who would be the first to leave the table. It was always John.

Arthur would say, "Johnny, dad's hidden sweets in his desk drawers. Go see! It's there."

And rosy-faced John, being the youngest and most gullible, would glance at his father's desk with longing eyes, all the while Tommy and Lucia would hide giggles behind their pudgy fingers. Tentatively, John would scooch off the chair and as soon as he did an eruption of laughter would fill the room.

"You're a rotten egg! John's a rotten egg!" Arthur and Lucia would chant with their little voices and run out the door.

Poor John would sit on the ground and cry, cry, cry. He never liked being the rotten egg. His legs were too short so he couldn't keep up with the rest of them, and his arms were too short so he couldn't reach as high. Being a stinky, rotten egg was just too much pressure for one little boy with no sweets to have on his conscience. While Arthur and Lucia ran into the street, Tommy would stay back and pat his little brother on his head.

Always polite and quiet, Tommy Shelby was the pride of his mother's eyes. Mary Shelby would watch from the hall as Tommy would pick his little brother up and sit him back at the kitchen table. Tommy would drag a chair to the wall under the cabinets and he would climb onto it to reach the hidden tin of biscuits. Taking two, he'd replace the tin carefully over the collected dust. Both biscuits were for John. "One for now and one for when you're happy again," Tommy would tell him.

It was only natural for a mother to have favorites. Mary Shelby wouldn't admit it. John was a good boy, Ada was rebellious, Arthur tried, but Tommy was different. Even as a child, Tommy was a breath of summer air, so full of warmth. He was the quiet, passive observer that thought first and took action later. Tommy was so unlike his siblings, Mary thought. She could not imagine any woman his equal.

But Mary Shelby began to change her mind when her oldest son brought home the knobby kneed Sicilian girl. This was during the years when a fresh seventeen year old Luca prowled the streets before the turn of the century; the Changretta's were a terrifying force across Birmingham. There was no denying Lucia was a part of their organization despite not looking the part with her dirty shins, shabby clothes, and cheery grin.

"She's a wild thing if I've ever seen one," Polly remarked to her sister-in-law as they watched Lucia and Arthur competitively shoving each other on the streets. Too poor to buy a proper football, the children kicked around a flattened can instead from one side of the cobbled street to the other.

"I like her. She's a wee thing with kind eyes." Mary smiled. "She'll be good for Tommy."

A puff of cigarette smoke clung to the air when Polly chuckled. "She'd eat Tommy up - the sweet boy he is. She and Arthur would make a good match. Look at them."

"No." Mary shook her head, deep in thought. Lucia had challenged Arthur into hand-to-hand combat over whose goal the can had tumbled into. "They're too similar."

"Jesus, Mary! They're just children!"

"Aye, wains they may be, but you can tell their characters. When she's old enough, you read her tea leaves, Pol."

Mary Shelby took one last look out the kitchen window at Lucia. Arthur, much older and stronger, had pinned her down to the road, careful not to hurt her, but Lucia thrashed and fought back like an animal - refusing to give up though she was overpowered.

Mary could already tell life wouldn't be easy for Tommy. He was too good-hearted, too generous, too determined to be kind. Tommy needed a woman who could suffer with him through this bitter world and all its ugly faces.

* * *

_On Resolving To Survive - 1903_

It was four in the morning when Polly, wrapped in a shawl, hurried down the stairs. The entire house had rattled from the erratic pounding against the back door. "Just a minute!" She shouted, lighting the oil lamp on the kitchen table, then turning on her heel to unlatch the lock.

From the dimness of the streets, Polly recognized Luca Changretta, blood splattered across his face and pooling at his chest. He carried his little sister limp in his arms and rushed through the door before Polly could fully open it. Sweeping Lucia across the table, nearly sending the oil lamp flying to the ground, Luca stumbled back against the wall for support while Polly rushed to his sister's side.

With labored breath, he yanked his cap down and carded his fingers through his hair. "She has a stab wound under her right arm."

Several pairs of feet rumbled down the staircase followed by shushing and instructions for Arthur and Tommy to keep Ada and John upstairs while their mother came down. Mary made the sign of a cross at the sight and mumbled a prayer under her breath.

"Was it the Brummie Boys?" Mary asked. Polly had ripped Lucia's shirt with skilled fingers to get better access to the wound. "Scuttlers?"

"The High Rips," Luca replied. His eyes had darkened with worry and couldn't be torn from his sister's pale face. "From Liverpool."

"Those fuckers came all the way down here? From Liverpool?" The skepticism in Polly's voice was hardly disguised. She had always held Luca at an arm's reach - his reputation for cunning and violent hits had long preceded him.

Liverpool was a city with an abundance of wealth and disgraceful poverty. From this the seeds of the High Rip Gang were sowed. They were armed with belt buckles, knives, and a lust for violence. Their hits were random and mindless, without discrimination or prejudice. They would mug poor passersby, kick sailors to death on Royal Albert Docks, and now they had come down to Birmingham piss drunk and stabbed a young woman near death. What they would soon find out is that Changretta was attached to her name - and that meant Luca wasn't far behind.

"What'll you do?" Mary asked. She had folded her apron to support Lucia's neck, gently caressing the young girl's face, praying her eyes would flutter open and healing could begin.

Luca Changretta pushed off the wall and stood up straight, and the two Shelby women could see masterful brushstrokes of revenge formulate along the blank canvas of his face. For the first time that night, his eyes pulled away from his sister's body and, despite his tall stature, it felt as though he took up most of the room. They all knew what he had to do.

He wrung his cap between his hands, voiced his gratitude for their help, and said he would be back for his sister when those who were responsible for this heinous act were sleeping at the bottom of the Cut. While Luca would maintain he enacted justice with love in his heart, it took Lucia a very long time to understand that his revenge was a message: _nobody had a right to his property without his permission_. There was no doubting Luca's love for his sister, but the Changretta's had a business and a reputation to maintain.

The family was the business, and business _always_ came first.

Lucia, weak from blood loss, regained consciousness in Arthur's bed three days later. Arthur had spent much of that time sleeping on a blanket on the floor, always keeping an ear out in case she woke up. But Lucia's eyes fluttered open to see Mary dozing in an uncomfortable seat beside the bed. Disoriented and sore, she attempted to pull herself up against the pillows but collapsed under the searing pain at her side. Lucia yelped in surprise, and Mary was quickly alert.

"You're alright," she soothed, stroking Lucia's matted hair. "You're safe."

As brave as she thought herself, Lucia was only twelve and couldn't stop her bottom lip from quivering. "Where's Luca?"

Mary clasped her hands, "He's gone to Liverpool. You've been asleep for three days now."

"My - my parents didn't come for me?"

"Ach, love," Mary's voice was soft and her touch was motherly, "your brother wanted to keep you safe so you could heal."

Lucia sunk further into the pillows, pulled the sheets up to her chin, and tried not to cry. She felt abandoned, forgotten, and confused. Vincente and Audrey Changretta always said that family was the most important - that family always came first. They said that only family would be able to tolerate and love her, and that nobody else could do it properly. But they weren't here now, Lucia thought. She tugged her hand out from under Mary's, ignoring the brief flash of hurt in her eyes, and looked away towards the wall. But just as soon as she had pulled away from Mary Shelby, Lucia realized her own mother would never have held her hand as gently nor sat by her bed as patiently.

Understanding Lucia's hesitancy to accept her motherly affection, Mary forced a smile and said she would send Arthur up for company while she made dinner. Lucia kept her eyes fixed on the chipped paint on the window sill, nodding absently in response.

Moments later she heard Arthur's thundering footsteps on the wooden stairs and he nearly tumbled into the room, all lanky armed. "You're awake! Back from the dead!"

Lucia couldn't help but forget her loneliness to mirror the grin on his freckled face. Arthur sat on the edge of the bed and beamed down at her.

"I won the pool! Those bastards in the Brummie Boys bet you wouldn't wake up."

"What were the odds?" She asked between her dry lips.

"Six to fifty."

Lucia managed a disdainful snort. Nobody believed she would survive and that made her want to live even more. "You'll be splitting those winnings with me, won't ya?"

Arthur gently bumped her chin with his fist. "Aye. That's what friends are for, Luc."

When Mary came up with a tray of food, she was relieved to see the color come back to Lucia's cheeks. Mary saw a part of herself in the young Sicilian girl who lay injured in the bed. Lucia was a survivor and a wild thing. She was a shotgun blast and a brick wall, and Mary hoped that the fierce determination would never fade from her eyes.

* * *

_On Choosing Family - 1907_

Lucia was sixteen when she stepped into the Shelby household for what might have been the very last time. It had been weeks since she had seen the Shelbys, but this visit would be her goodbye. The older she became, the more pride chipped away within herself at the Changretta name. It wasn't because of the fire fights or the racketeering or the extortion or the illegal gambling. It wasn't even because of all the murder and assault. It's because she could not become what they wanted her to become. _You're too stubborn, you'll never be happy._

_You're too loud. You're too quiet. Who will want to marry you like this?_

_You're too confident. You're too timid. Who will want to marry you like this?_

_You're too thin, eat more. You're too fat, eat less. Who will want to marry you like this?_

The reason why Lucia stepped up the doorstep at 5 Watery Lane to say goodbye to the Shelby's was because her assigned purpose in life wasn't to join in on the fire fights and the racketeering and the illegal gambling. She was being shipped away to East Harlem to be a proper Sicilian wife to a proper Sicilian man. Her marriage to Giuseppe Morello would bind the Changretta-Morello alliance.

She had fought hard against the marriage, but Luca, having taken refuge in New York after the brutal murders of the High Rip gang members four years earlier, insisted she go forward with the union. "It's your duty to the family, _sorellina_ ," Luca had pressed over the phone. "If it wasn't for the family, you wouldn't be safe or have food on your plate. It's your responsibility to do this." Lucia fought even harder still, but her mother took matters into her own hands.

So Lucia had come to say her last goodbyes.

When the gentle knock sounded at the door Mary, seven months pregnant with Finn, leaned over the oven cooking supper while Tommy kept her company.

"It's Luc," Tommy announced from the kitchen table. He recognized her footsteps coming up to the door.

Mary, excited to greet Lucia after their weeks apart, bustled to unlatch the door but the cheer on her face quickly fell. Pulling the young girl into the house, Mary tilted her head down to catch Lucia's empty gaze and asked, "Ach, love, what's happened to your face?" The shock in his mother's question had Tommy up on his feet in seconds, protectively coming closer to Lucia.

"Noth - Nothing," Lucia's voice trembled, feeling cornered under their worried looks. She was trying to hide her blackened eye and split lip into her shoulder. "I can't stay for long."

Mary Shelby's chest tightened, mourning the precocious and wild thing Lucia used to be. The once bright-eyed young girl looked more like a frightened animal now. What a curse it was to be a woman. Mary only broke out of her lament when her son instructed her to get a chip of ice for Lucia's swollen lip.

Watching Mary waddle away as quickly as her pregnant body would allow, Lucia's shoulders slumped and her chest heaved with emotion. _What a beautiful life I could have had with them_ , she despaired. Tommy touched her so gently and so kindly, inspecting the swell across her face. Mrs. Shelby's heart nearly broke at the sight of her wounds. "I can't stay for long," she said again in a weaker voice, brown eyes burning with impending tears.

Tommy guided her to the same table they sat at as children, and carefully dabbed her lip with the bit of ice his mother had carefully wrapped in a cloth.

"Who did this to you, love?" Mary stood behind her son and braced herself against the table. "Was it your da? Your mam?"

Lucia took in a long inhale, biting the inside of her bottom lip in an attempt to control the tears that threatened to stream down her face. She looked down with a grimace. "I'm going to America to Luca. And I don't think I'll be coming back. They have a husband waiting for me."

Tommy's hand paused and his blue eyes flickered up to meet hers. Their brief moment didn't go unnoticed by Mary Shelby.

"There's nothing to be done?" Tommy finally asked in a voice that faltered more than he expected.

Lucia shook her head dejectedly. "I tried and that's how this happened," she made a weak gesture toward her face. "My ma couldn't tolerate me complaining much longer, she…"

Mary rounded the table and pulled Lucia into the warm curve of her arms, using the hem of her apron to catch the tears before they hit the tabletop.

"She was so angry with me," Lucia willed herself to continue between the wracking sobs that caught at her throat after every few words. "She grabbed my hair and wouldn't stop." Her voice was half muffled in Mary's sleeves.

Tommy took hold of her shaking hands.

"She kept slamming my head into the wall. She said it was my duty to go and that I shouldn't be so arrogant to think otherwise." She breathed in deep. In and out, in and out.

Mary Shelby was holding her tight, but Lucia already missed the comfort of the embrace. She was lost in the times where she took the love for granted or rejected it altogether. But now, Lucia wanted to drown in those happier memories when Mary's love, Arthur's friendship, and the safety of the Shelby family felt eternal. The sands of time were quickly running out so she wanted to remember this feeling so she could place it in a happy part of her mind and admire it whenever she was at her loneliest.

Leaning down, Mary took Lucia's face firmly between her hands, looked into her eyes, and said, "You are so special to me, and I love you. Is this marriage what _you_ want?"

Though her tear-filled eyes were on his mother's face, Lucia squeezed Tommy's hands in her lap. She shook her head no.

"We'll send you away to family." Mary decided. "Polly's mother Birdie will take care of you, and she'll keep you safe." She dropped her hands to her sides. "Tommy will handle things for you here. Yeah?"

Lucia nodded. She looked between the two Shelbys and decided that, come whatever, her heart belonged to them. Family couldn't be contained to who you're born to, it was who you've bound yourself to whether by blood, love, or the covenant.

Hours later, Lucia went deep into the countryside to stay hidden under the protection of Birdie Boswell, gypsy princess. Though the negotiations were less than ideal, Tommy and Polly ensured no hits would be made on Lucia if she came back to Birmingham. She had been properly disowned by her family. It was perhaps for the best because her intended, Giuseppe Morello, a handsome Sicilian 24 years her senior with a disfigured one-fingered right hand, was imprisoned for counterfeiting in 1909.

When Lucia did come back to Birmingham, Polly made sure to find her a decent flat within the protection of the Blinders, and Mary would often visit. Lucia and Mary Shelby would sit over tea for hours sometimes in silence, sometimes bustling around the small flat to make supper, but always taking comfort in one another's company.

"Thank you," Lucia said one day, "for loving me the way you love your children. I hadn't thought it was something I needed."

Mary smiled in response and swept her arm across the scarcely furnished flat. "It's a cruel world that allows women to suffer like this. But you have a strength inside of your heart. No matter how many times you fall, you'll rise."

* * *

_On The Curse of Womanhood - 1908_

Six weeks after Finn was born, Mary Shelby started to feel it. Whatever _it_ was. At first, she thought she had been given a gift of divination - like Polly. But it felt more like a curse. Whether it was from childbirth, from breastfeeding, or from having five other children to raise, exhaustion soon manifested into something more debilitating. One frustration would slowly double then triple until it all bled together over time into one big ugly thing.

"Here," Mary shoved little Finn into Lucia's arm so he wouldn't be her concern anymore.

Carefully tucking the six week old in the pram, Lucia quickened her pace to catch up with Mary who had taken off down the streets toward the Cut. "Are you alright?"

Mary Shelby didn't answer. She was already lost in the gilded utopia of her mind - a place where her desires would be satiated, her wildest dreams fulfilled, and a place where she was in complete control, without anger, without responsibility, without devolution. The last few weeks, she couldn't look out a window without wanting to fall or a church steeple without wanting to hang.

"Leave the pram," she curtly instructed before walking down the steps to the churning reservoir beside Charlie's Yard. Lucia held Finn close against her chest. He was sound asleep, his little fingers curled into a fist. "Lucia." Mary Shelby paced back and forth beside the waters. "Lucia!"

"Yes?"

"I have to go now, but you have to take care of the boys."

Lucia's body became rigid at Mary's body language and the hopeful gaze thrown toward the raging waters. She proceeded cautiously. "What do you mean?"

Mary stepped toward her with determination and bypassed her own baby to press a kiss to Lucia's temple. "You won't understand now, but Tommy needs you. Don't give up on him. Please, for _me_."

"I - I," she stammered, "I don't understand."

Mary smiled sadly at her. "I know, my darling. But call me mother and promise you'll take care of our family."

"I'll take care of our family, ma."

Before Lucia could blink, Mary Shelby had walked up to the edge of the Cut and she had thrown herself in. Holding Finn was the only thing that kept Lucia from jumping in herself. All she could do was stifle a scream, hold the baby close to her skin, and run toward Charlie's Yard. She saw Curly first. He had a pitchfork in his hand and tossed hay over the stall to the strong racehorses.

"Where's Charlie?" She managed to ask between sobs.

Finn was still fast asleep in her arms when Charlie pulled Mary's body out from the water.

* * *

_On Grieving Greta - 1912_

"I heard about Greta." Lucia's apprehensive steps drew closer. "I'll sit with you a bit?"

Tommy didn't move, didn't answer or look back, but she could see the red under his eyes from crying. The silence was his answer. Scrounging in her coat pocket, Lucia pulled two cigarettes from the tin and held both in her mouth to catch a light before putting one between Tommy's fingers.

A chilling gust of wind flooded through the narrow canal, and the trees across from them danced and shivered against the force. Lucia huddled behind the tall collar of her coat, holding the warm smoke in her mouth.

"What's left without her, Luc?" His quiet voice faltered halfway through. It broke Lucia's heart. Tommy was always the strong one.

"It'll feel like nothing for a while," she admitted. "You loved her, Tommy. No one expects you to go back to normal."

Tommy Shelby couldn't possibly tell Lucia how deeply his grief ran inside him. It felt like his entire universe shattered into billions of pieces while simultaneously freezing at absolute zero and burning at the temperature of the sun. Everything turned into a gray-green haze. Time didn't exist in the second Greta took her last breath. And Tommy sat by her bedside begging her not to go. Now, he sat by the Cut with an untouched cigarette beginning to burn the insides of his fingers. He couldn't feel the pain of it. Lucia pinched the burning cigarette from between his fingers and dropped it down into the water.

They sat together for a while, in silence, staring out toward the cluster of trees which seemed to never fade away like they were both doomed to.

"It's getting dark, and my father will send out his best assassins if I'm not in my flat." She leaned over to press a comforting kiss on Tommy's cold cheek. "If you need a place to escape, I'll always have a spot to dry your coat at my hearth."

The warmth under her lips brought Tommy back to reality. He watched her walk down the canals and out of sight.

Two months later, in the dead of a rainy night, Lucia heard a light tap at the door of her flat. She didn't reach for the gun under her bed frame - it was peacetime between the Birmingham families. Tommy stood on the other side, soaking wet with tears and rain.

Without missing a beat, Lucia pulled his coat down and hung it up by the fire, just as she had promised. "Sit down," she found a dry towel and instructed. Tommy sunk into the closest chair and let her rub soothing circles through his damp hair.

They didn't speak much that night. While Tommy laid quiet on her bed, Lucia hung the rest of his damp clothes on the hearth and situated herself in the chair closest to him.

"Thank you." His words were obscured into the pillow.

She reached out to stroke his hair. "I'll stay close if you need me. I'll take care of you."

* * *

_On Saying Farewell - 1914_

On the fourth of August 1914, England declared war on Germany. At 27, 24, and 19, respectively, Arthur, Tommy, and John Shelby answered the call for king and country. Lucia snuck away from the watchful eyes of her father's men, and gently rapped on the back door. It was her last chance. The boys left in the morning.

From his place in the parlor, Tommy watched Lucia sneak a package of sweets into Finn's waiting hands. She rounded the kitchen table, unwrapping her shawl, and joined the somber silence which filled the little room. Much to his dismay, Lucia settled between Finn and Ada. Finn, already sticky with the toffee she had brought, flashed a toothy grin.

Tommy's eyes followed her the entire night and he couldn't say why. It kept his gaze from flickering to the clock on the mantle. Tommy didn't like how the hours disappeared and brought him closer and closer to the morning. He had started to count the seconds that passed by but time had a way of fading out of the corners of his eyes. So, he waited for Lucia to look towards him. He couldn't muster the courage to speak to her directly, but he hoped to be alone with her. He wanted her to hold him for a moment and give him reassurance that everything would be alright.

It was close to midnight when she pulled John into her arms. With the pads of her finger she made the sign of the cross three times over his heart and three times on his temple. She brought her forehead against his and whispered a blessing in Italian. It was just for him.

Next, she went to Arthur. They hugged each other tightly in front of the hearth and she did the same thing. Three crosses over his heart and three crosses on his temple. Arthur leaned in close and received her blessings. She translated it to English. It was just for him.

Tommy had waited all night to be the focus of her attention, and now the time had come. Their eyes met and she approached him. Tommy braced himself for her touch but, much to his dismay, Lucia extended her hand out instead. The smile on her lips reached her bright eyes. It was a friendly gesture. Though hurt, Tommy shook her hand.

With a last loving smile at the Shelby brothers, Lucia gathered her coat, wrapped her shawl, and stepped out into the cold night. There was a good reason to avoid Tommy Shelby. If Lucia looked him in the eye for longer than a second, she would surely drop her façade of strength and burst into tears. She reflected on the evening, walking down the cobblestone streets.

John was a friend, Arthur a brother, but Tommy was different.

"Lucia!"

She turned. The light shining through the open door fell across Tommy's face. He walked briskly towards her.

"I want a blessing."

Lucia tilted her head. "You don't need one. You're strong just as you are."

"I'd like one from you either way."

Consenting, Lucia tugged the glove from off her right hand and raised it up. Three crosses over his heart and three on his temple. Tommy leaned into her touch. They stood alone on the streets, huddled together in the warmth created around them. Their eyes met and her voice quietly followed.

" _Dovrai fare a pezzi il mondo che ami. Sarai terribilmente solo ma insieme devi_ _farcela."_ Lucia swallowed back the hard lump forming at the base of her throat. "You will have to shoot the world you love to pieces. You will be terribly alone but together you must see it through." It was just for him. With an even fainter timbre, she finished, "You come back to me, Tommy Shelby. I'll be here waiting for you."

He shifted closer to coil an arm around her waist, brushing a tendril of hair behind her ear. "And if I come back broken?"

"I'll take care of you."

Tommy didn't answer. He kept studying her face. Her eyes, her nose, her lips and her neck. He wanted to remember it all before he went away. He wanted it to be the very last thing he remembered if he died.

"Could I kiss you?"

She nodded.

Tommy Shelby kissed Lucia Changretta for the first time on the day he left for France. It was neither a passionate declaration of love nor sweet assurances for the unknown future. They stood alone in the dark of the night under the looming clouds of war.

* * *

_On Having So Much to Say But Never Saying It - December 1918_

When the war ended, she found him standing by the Cut. It wasn't far from Charlie's Yard. He was skinnier, hollow, and ashen - nothing at all like the ruddy, hopeful man he used to be. When he saw her, he continued to pull at his cigarette.

"You weren't with John and Arthur." The excited grin had long vanished from her face.

Tommy halfheartedly shrugged without turning to look at her. Too much had changed. Picking up the elusive traces of his civilian life was now a monumental task. Lucia placed a comforting hand on his back, and rested her cheek against his shoulder blade. The muscles in his body tensed upon contact and he instinctively leaned away from her touch.

She recoiled slightly at this reaction. "What have they done to you, my love?"

"I shot the world I love to pieces. Just like you said." His voice was cutting. The cigarette between his lips was dropped carelessly to the ground and crushed underfoot. "Suppose," he started, dark and like gravel. "Suppose those shovels don't stop knocking in me head. Suppose I threw meself into the Cut."

Panic rattled through Lucia's bones, and she desperately tried to compose herself to respond evenly. In little less than a whisper she answered, "my heart would break. There's no living for me without you, Tommy."

A sad smile was forced across his lips. "There's no point wasting your life living for me, Luc. There's nothing left." He was just a shell of the man he used to be.

"What if…" She stepped away from him, anxiously shifting her weight from one leg to the other. "What if I gave you parts of myself instead."

Fishing out his cigarette tin, Tommy shrugged. He didn't know what she meant. Lucia was nervous. It wasn't in her nature to be so direct, but she had thought about him every single day since he kissed her. Some nights Lucia imagined getting to hold him, to laugh with him, to sneak kisses behind corners and glance at him with eyes full of love. He had possessed a part of her for years now, and now she wanted him to be a part of her.

Rising on her toes, Lucia pressed a kiss to the curve of his jaw. When he didn't object, she kissed the corner of his lips. When he tilted his head to kiss her lips, she guided his arm around her body. Their kisses were slow, deliberate, and passionate. There was no fumbling for zippers and buttons and hooks. There was no rush to scratch the itch that won't go away anyways.

They walked down the streets of Birmingham together, sneaking into alleyways to share a smile or press their lips together. Lucia's flat was cold but neither one of them stopped to light the fire. They slipped under the covers, intertwining their arms and legs. It was comfort. It was warmth and safety.

"Lucia, are you sure?" Tommy breathlessly asked between damp kisses. He knew it was her first time.

"Yes," she pulled his shirt over his head, "I want it to be you, Tommy."

* * *

_On Reading Tea Leaves - Present, January 1926_

Tommy sat behind his desk in the office adjacent to the betting shop, and studied the back of his wife's head. She was standing at the window, staring out into the darkness with her arms firmly crossed across her chest. In a few minutes, there would be a family meeting to discuss the Changretta vendetta, the protection of Aberama Gold, and the future of the Peaky Blinders. It would also be the meeting where she would be introduced as Mrs. Shelby, and Lucia was mustering up her courage to face her new family.

"Thomas," Polly rapped on the door quickly then stepped inside, "we're all ready." She paused in her tracks. "What the fuck is _she_ doing here?"

"She's family now," Tommy held up his left hand to show off his wedding ring.

"God help us," Polly sneered, advancing towards his desk. "We're in the middle of an all out war and you've decided to marry the enemy?"

"Yes," he rose from his seat and wheeled Lucia around so they stood shoulder to shoulder before Polly. "She's family," he repeated, resolute.

Polly Gray pursed her lips and studied the two of them. They used to be children and now they bound themselves to the law and to each other. There was no escape for them now but death. _When she's old enough_ , Mary had said, _you read her tea leaves, Pol_. Gritting her teeth, Polly spooned a small amount of tea into a cup and let it steep in water. She held the cup out towards Lucia. "Drink."

Lucia began to object, "We're already married, what would this possibly prove?"

Polly glowered. "Your mother Mary, rest her soul, knew you two would be together long before God Himself. Now, drink."

Accepting it with her left hand, as was the tradition taught to her by Birdie Boswell, and glancing briefly toward Tommy, Lucia sipped at the hot tea until the leaves have spread across the bottom of the cup. Inverting the cup over a saucer, careful to use her left hand, Polly stood still for a minute before rotating it three times. She turned the cup upright, positioned the handle toward due south, and begrudgingly inspected the clusters and shapes created by the leaves. Tommy and Lucia waited patiently.

"Well," Polly raised her head up after her study to gauge timing, intensity, and connection found in the leaves. She tilted the mouth of the cup towards them. There was a bold and pronounced line of dots resembling a chain. "Your souls have been bound to one another since the sun first set and the moon first rose." She gestured to the leaves spotting the rim. "You've been brought together at the right time, in the right place." Polly set the cup and saucer onto the desk. With arms as rigid as branches, she pulled Lucia against her body in what looked to be acceptance.

But in a whisper low enough that Tommy couldn't hear, Polly, helpful or unhelpful even she couldn't say, said into Lucia's ear, "there's much more suffering left to face."


	10. Family Meeting

Lucia Shelby stared down at the tea cup that sat precariously on the corner of her husband's desk. She was less concerned with what Polly had read in those tea leaves, and more concerned by her parting words: _There's much more suffering left to face_. She knew it was a truth and that chilled her to the bone. Suffering came in all forms and intensities. There was emotional, physical, and mental suffering, suffering from the inability to accept the changes that arrived throughout life, and the suffering that sprang from how existence itself was dull, unsatisfactory, and ongoing. In her life, Lucia had been shot, stabbed, abandoned, manipulated and berated. She couldn't quite put her finger on what flavor of suffering she'd endured the most.

Though never one to linger in the troubles of the past, Lucia was still haunted by the briefest memories of it...the look on her father's face when she betrayed their family, the hatred in Tommy's eyes when he held his dead wife in his arms, the pieces of her father's skull and brain matter than clung to her blouse, the disappointment in her brother's voice when he saw her for the first time in 23 years. Those brief flashes of time were seared into the back of her eyelids. The harder she squeezed her eyes shut to forget, the more vivid those memories became.

She had run away from her family many times over during her life - running violently towards love, running desperately away from an advantageous marriage in America - and each time she looked up to search for a glimpse of light at the end of her darkest tunnels Thomas Shelby stood there, gesturing her through into a bright new world.

"Are you ready, Mrs. Shelby?"

Lucia looked away from the tea cup, and there he was: Thomas fuckin' Shelby, the light at the end of her tunnel. A long exhale passed between her lips and she waved him over to give her a pull of his cigarette. "This is going to be a disaster," she muttered, rubbing the corner of her brow, his cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth.

Tommy didn't attempt to console her fears or belittle her anxieties. Her feelings were justified. Instead, he brushed the side of his coat to make sure the gun was still in its holster. Just in case. He plucked the tab from her lips and crushed it into the ashtray on his desk. "You ready?" He asked again.

Lucia squirmed at the question. Polly may have begrudgingly accepted her, but that left Arthur, Ada, Finn, Linda, Johnny Dogs, Charlie, Jeramiah, Isiah, and the woman who started it all, Lizzie Stark. She nodded in response to Tommy's question. She was as ready as she could possibly be. They stepped through the doors of his office and into the line of sight of the family, gathered around the same table she sat at as a child, the same table Polly had cleaned her stab wound as a young girl, and the same table the Shelby's rescued her from an arranged marriage as a woman.

While Lucia expected groans or scoffs of disgust from the family, they remained quiet. Polly must have told them, she thought. Disgust would have been infinitely better than the silence that filled the room. Lucia shrank into Tommy's shadow.

From the safety behind her husband, Lucia's gaze rested on Lizzie Stark and, for a moment, she understood why Angel had loved her. It had taken Lucia a very long time to accept Lizzie's innocence in the death of her family - the only thing she and Angel were guilty of was being in love. Lucia used to believe that love was bad for business, but here she was renamed to Mrs. Lucia Shelby fighting a vendetta against her own family. A bitter laugh started in her chest but the humor of it all dissipated when Tommy put his hand at the small of her back, guiding her out of the darkness… into a bright new world.

He had taken note of the unnatural non-reaction too. "Well," he began, "it'll come to no surprise that I've taken a wife. If anyone has any grievances, this is the time to voice it."

"John is _dead_." Arthur sharply said, refusing to look at the pair of them. "John is dead, and this is what you've decided to do? Without talking to your family."

Lucia fought against the stinging hurt that pressed against her chest. She hoped Arthur would be on her side. He usually always was. But, there was no denying how suspicious her sudden marriage to Tommy looked from outside observers. They all had a right to be wary of her.

The chair groaned as Ada stood and approached with arms open for an embrace which Lucia readily accepted. "We all knew it would happen. For years now. Lucia has always been more a Shelby than a Changretta."

"But a Changretta, all the same," Linda spoke up in favor of her husband.

"What did the tea leaves have to say about it, Pol?" Tommy finally asked after another uncomfortable silence.

With a strained sigh, Polly straightened herself in her seat. It was unlike her to have stayed silent for so long. "I'm not happy about this marriage," she admitted with a dismissive wave of a hand, "but since they were children, your mother has wanted them together. Seems Mary knew something nobody else did."

"And the tea leaves?" Tommy pressed.

Polly gave a long-suffering sigh and threw up her hands, giving up. "Their souls are connected. What happened was meant to happen." She didn't bother with the attempt to be convincing.

"Right." Tommy straightened his shoulders, "Now that that's settled, to business then. Michael and John were shot because we killed someone. Vincente Changretta."

Images of her father's face, his collapsed skull, his blood on her blouse passed through her eyes, and Lucia braced herself, the muscle in her jaw jumping from the tension she wrestled to stay in control of.

"His son Luca," Tommy quickly glanced toward Lucia, "has come to take revenge. Men from New York and Sicily are here in Birmingham. These men will not leave the city until our whole family is dead. That's how it works, an eye for an eye. It's called vendetta."

"Yeah, well," Arthur drawled, fishing through his pockets to hold out a bullet. "The bullet's been written. It says Luca. When the time comes, and it _will_ come," he tilted his head to catch Lucia's attention. "Me as the oldest brother will put this bullet into his fuckin' head."

Lucia shifted restlessly where she stood, "But…" It should have been her to put a bullet in her brother's head. Vendetta or not, it should be family.

Though Tommy noticed Lucia's surprise, he decided to plow forward in addressing his family. He would settle it with her later. "Until this business is resolved. We stay here. Together. Small Heath, Bordesley, Hay Mills down to Greet."

Struck with anger by his apathetic nonresponse, Lucia chewed on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from lashing out. The final bullet should be family. There was no rhyme or reason for it, but Lucia didn't want to see her older brother take his final breath with a Shelby bullet lodged in his brain - she couldn't wear the blood, brain, and skull of another man in her family. But there was no way for her to justify killing him herself. She wasn't that strong. She would have shown mercy.

"What if," Polly curiously began, "What if this is all part of their plan, and she," the smoky cigarette poised between her fingers jabbed the air in Lucia's direction, "is going to betray us?"

"That's a reasonable fear," Lucia spoke for the first time. "But," she shrugged off her coat and rolled up her sleeves to show the purpled bruises around her wrists and up her forearms from her fall, "But my brother wouldn't have tried to drown me in the Cut if he didn't think I would break my oath of omertà in loyalty to the Peaky Blinders." She pushed her sleeves back down to her wrist. "Luca is getting information on all of you from my mother. He knows you. But I know him. I know the lengths he's willing to go to. I know the lengths his button-men are willing to go to."

"And breaking this - this _oath_ ," Polly pressed forward in her attack, "what are we to benefit from it?"

"The most sacred duty I was entrusted with was to keep silent with the information I have overheard." Lucia's response was icy. "And that's what you need, isn't it? Information? Information on Luca, on his plans, on this blood feud."

"And how are _you_ benefiting from this?"

"I'm not." Lucia snapped. "My brother gave me the kiss of death. I'm a dead man walking. My fate is tied to Luca's now. And if he doesn't kill me, someone else will." She threw her attention down to the floor and ended with a quiet promise, "I'll do whatever I can to help you win this."

Polly pursed her lips, satisfied.

"They are an organization of a different dimension. They'll have sub-machine guns - those fuckers can fire off close to 100 rounds in under a minute as far as 160 feet." Lucia warned, "My brother's men are professionals and they're good at what they do."

"So, we're going to need more than we have," her husband finished. "I sent a message to Aberama Gold."

Johnny Dog's snapped alert. "No! No, Tom!" He pleaded. "I'll get you fifty Lee boys. Good men, Tom!"

"I don't need good men, Johnny. For this I need bad men."

"Tommy, his people are fuckin' savages. You know? Heathens, Tom. They don't even let them in the fair, so they come and steal our horses. You know, stealing from their own, Tom!"

Polly almost threw her head back to laugh, pouring a large portion of whiskey into her glass. "So this is the plan, Thomas? A bullet with a name on it, help from a bunch of savages, information from the enemy's sister, your bloody wife?"

It felt like Lucia had been smacked in the face. Her eyebrows had furrowed in embarrassment. When Polly said it out loud, it all sounded ridiculous. Beside her, Tommy seemed to have been processing the same discomfort from Polly's words. He chewed on his bottom lips, eyes glued to the bullet Arthur had placed on the tabletop.

"We're going to go on the offensive." Lucia surprised herself by how commanding her voice sounded as the words left her lips. She was more courageous now that it was her turn to stand up for Tommy.

Polly threw her head back to bark out a laugh, whiskey dribbling over the rim of the glass she held and down her wrist. "They've been married for less than a day and this one thinks she can give orders."

"They have Thompsons, Colts, Smith and Wessons," Lucia's voice was growing louder and louder, slowly flooding into every corner of the room, "sawed off shotguns, and enough Molotov's to burn down all of Small Heath twice over. And if that isn't enough for you, they brought over two dozen 30 caliber Brownings from America that could tear apart a fucking horse!" She clamped her mouth shut, fuming, trying to steady her breath. All eyes were on her and all Lucia wanted to do was to retreat into the comfort of Tommy's shadow.

"And how is it that you know all this information?" Polly challenged, eyes narrowing.

"Luca told me."

"He told you?"

"Yes."

"Why would he tell you?"

"Because in his eyes, I'm already dead. He knows he has nothing to lose by telling me, and that I will lose everything. He's too confident. _That_ is why we have to go on the offensive," she repeated it much softer, almost modestly as if it were an apology for her previous outburst.

Tommy watched her the whole time, hit by the thunderbolt once again by the same woman. Hovering a fresh cigarette in the air between his lips, Tommy recognized the same wild thing his mother had seen Lucia when they were children. "She's right," he pocketed the cigarette without lighting it. "The police are busy with the revolution and strikes, so we don't have enough pairs of eyes and ears to look out for the Sicilians. The coppers don't give a fuck about us. Which means that here today, in this room, we have to agree to end this war between us."

"Did your husband tell you what he did to us? Saved his own neck while coppers threw us into their trucks. Now he's asking us for peace."

"Careful, Pol." Lucia flatly said. "Bitterness doesn't suit you."

Tommy was more diligent in diverting the tension. "Let's take a vote."

Arthur started the count, "Peace." Ada, Charlie, Finn, Lizzie followed Arthur's lead.

"Since my son's not here to speak," Polly said, "I'll speak on behalf of us both. Truce."

Tommy turned. "Luc?"

Her eyebrow arched. "I'm allowed a vote?"

"No!" Polly snapped before Tommy could say yes. Consenting to Polly's judgement, Lucia nodded for Tommy to continue.

"Five for peace, two for truce, one abstention." He meant John. "Let's get on with the war." Turning on his heel, Tommy briskly returned to his office, leaving Lucia alone with his family.

Transferring his Bible to his opposite hand, Jeramiah was the first to approach her. He gave her an encouraging nod before filing out the door, Isiah close behind. Finn, still young but tall enough to not look the part, managed a weak smile. He wasn't the little boy who would eagerly wait for sweets anymore, Lucia thought. Charlie, Johnny Dogs, and Lizzie didn't say a word, but she hadn't expected them to and Polly had bypassed her entirely in favor of the stairs leading up to the parlor.

While Arthur also walked by without a glance, Linda leaned in to whisper, "come find me when you have a moment."

Lucia stepped backwards until her heels hit the wall. She was exhausted and prepared herself to face off with Ada who still hadn't left the table. "Thank you for supporting me earlier. I know how bad it all looks, but I love Tommy."

Ada nodded with the first warm smile Lucia had received since she got back. "I know you do. We're so similar, you and me."

"Are we?" Lucia questioned, filling the chair Arthur had left. She and Ada had been civil and friendly, at best, all the years they had known each other. They never had a chance to connect as young women but Lucia had always wanted a sister. And so did Ada.

"Nobody liked Freddie either. He caused too much trouble. But I loved him, and he loved me." Ada reached out across the table to take Lucia's hand, squeezing it the same way her mother used to. "I've seen the way Tommy has looked at you for years. And the way you look at him. I meant what I said. You've been more a Shelby than a Changretta all your life."

The window on the office door rattled as Tommy yanked it open. "Ada." He nodded at his sister before shifting his eyes over, tilting his head into his office. "Luc."

With a parting look towards Ada, Lucia stepped into the office. Tommy closed the door behind them and rolled his sleeves up to his elbow.

"After this is all over," he loosened the knot at his tie and pressed a kiss to her temple, "we should go back to Sicily. We should sit under the carob tree and Charlie could play with Noni's goats." He brushed his fingers along her collarbone, raising his eyes from her lips to say, "We could also try for another."

A smile quirked at the hairpin curves of Lucia's mouth. "I must be the first woman you've wanted to get pregnant on purpose."

"So, you'll think about it?"

"Aye," she nodded, still smiling, "I'll think about it."

Tommy took a moment to memorize her smile knowing he'd have to promptly wipe it off her face. "About Arthur." As he anticipated, the serene look on his wife's features disappeared within seconds.

"I said I wanted it to be me."

"It's tradition, Luc." He fished out the cigarette he had saved earlier and brought a flame to the end behind a cupped hand. "You have yours, and we have ours."

Her mouth hung open to voice an objection but no sound came out.

"Your brother knows you want to be the one to put a bullet in his head. And that means it can't be you." Tommy attempted to pull her into his arms but she briskly stepped away.

"I _have_ to be the one to do this."

"No, you don't!"

"You can't always fight my battles with my family for me, Tommy!"

"What?" Tommy yanked the cigarette out of his mouth and squinted hard at her. "This isn't just about you, Luc! All of our heads are on your brother's chopping block, and you want to be the one to kill him, for what?"

"As a mercy," she stammered.

"Mercy?!" He shouted. "Mercy? No, mercy is reserved for family, Lucia, and your brother stopped being your family the moment he wanted to sell you into a marriage with a man over twice your age. Look at me." He caught hold of her hands and coaxed her closer. "I am your family. All of those people around the table," he thrust a finger out toward the kitchen, "they are your family. They have been your family for years. They might not like you now, but that doesn't change the fact that you are one of us."

Lucia, swallowing the hard lump that caught in her throat, relented under his piecing stare. "You're right," she cast her attention at the window behind his desk. It threw a soft glow of light into the room but not far enough to warm her cold hands. She was standing in the shadows where she wanted to be but it didn't feel as comfortable as before.

What was she without her family? She may have chosen the Shelbys, but she was a Changretta - her first breath of air was a lungful of Sicily, a daughter of its soil. Born in blood. She couldn't just walk away.

"I need time to think." She tugged her fingers out of her husband's grip, and reached for her coat. "About whether I want to bring a child into this world," she quickly muddled a clarification, rising up on her toes to kiss him goodbye. "I'll see you tonight?"

Tommy nodded and watched closely after her as she disappeared out of his sight.

Outside, Lucia firmly planted her feet on the sidewalk in front of 5 Watery Lane, bundled up against the cold, and began down the street to find her brother.

* * *

**Preview for chapter 11:**

"Is there something I can help you with, Mrs. Shelby?"

"I wanted to apologize to you. About Angel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've noticed a lot in the world that "family" has become a weapon of choice to justify emotional, mental, verbal, and physical abuse. More so than men, it feels as though we as women fall prey to it. So, writing this chapter from the perspective of Lucia trying to choose between the Shelbys and Changrettas, and Tommy telling her that she doesn't have to struggle with the decision at all, has been so illuminating into what many women in the world struggle with!


	11. A Pleasant Fiction

Lizzie Stark lived off Hob Moor Road in Bordesley Green. Her front door was painted dark red and the flimsy white curtains which hung over the windows were all that separated her from the dusty outside world. She lived alone now but her home was never cold. When Lizzie heard a knock at her door, she was ready to rush back to the betting shop to type up documents for Tommy, but she was surprised to see his wife instead. Opening the door wide enough for Lucia to step through, Lizzie offered, out of politeness, to put the kettle on for tea hoping her guest would decline. She had run out of tea days ago.

The scent of sweet perfume wafted in from further inside the chilly house. The parlour was scantily furnished - it reminded Lucia of her old flat in Saltley, just at the border of Small Heath and Nechells. She made a mental note to stop by eventually once all this shit was over.

Lucia knew full well that Tommy had often sought after Lizzie's services. It was no secret, and Lucia wasn't the jealous type. Most of her life she heard Mary Shelby and Birdie Boswell say that she and Tommy were meant to be together. It didn't matter to Lucia how many women came before her.

"Is there something I can help you with, Mrs. Shelby?"

At first glance Lucia noticed Lizzie was dressed much more nicely than she was. All silks and chiffons and imported animal pelts hanging from her coat tree and carelessly tossed on the floor. It was quite a contrast to the muted blouse and skirt Lucia wore under her worn boiled wool coat. Her mother and grandmother always taught her that there was a noble pride in appearing humble in dress, mannerisms, and speaking. Her grandmother had also said that women are at their most powerful when they blend into the background, tugging the strings attached to their men as they go. As much as Lucia tried, heart longing to play the part of the spouse to a powerful man, she could never shake their words off as a woman. The expensive textiles would look so unnatural draped over her body.

"Just call me Lucia," she offered and continued after an awkward pause, "That's a beautiful dress."

Lizzie smoothed her skirt down nervously and forced a smile in thanks, awaiting the reason why Lucia prompted the visit. They both hadn't left the foyer and it felt too late to move to the couches now.

"I wanted to apologize to you," she began. "About Angel."

Lizzie's face pinched at the mention of his name. An old wound had been forced open again and so suddenly. "You don't have to apologize," was all Lizzie could say. After all, wasn't it Arthur who set Angel's restaurant on fire, she thought, John who beat him into a bloody pulp, and Tommy who had ordered his murder? "It wasn't your fault."

"I didn't mean for any of that to happen," Lucia's eyebrows knit together. She was trying so hard to properly express the depth of her regret to the woman whose life was destroyed most. "You didn't deserve any of that. Thank you," her voice cracked, "for loving my brother. I wish I could have fought harder for the both of you."

All Lizzie could do was shrug and look away. There was no bringing back Angel now, but seeds of resentment had begun to sprout inside her. Lucia stood there with a shiny wedding ring on her finger, married to the man of her dreams, and Lizzie had nothing but expensive clothes and a cold home. She composed herself, pushing the angry feelings down.

"Friends?" Lucia attempted with an extended hand.

Lizzie nodded tentatively and took it. "Friends," she agreed.

Before Lucia left Lizzie's home in Bordesley Green, she excused herself to make a phone call. All Lizzie could hear from the small kitchen was Lucia speaking rapidly in Italian to the receiver on the other end. Suspicious and still hurt by the renewed memories of Angel, Lizzie sent Lucia on her way with civility and immediately called Tommy's line in Small Heath.

* * *

Luca was perched at the bar, staring forward into the wall of spirits and liquors before him. A toothpick danced between his lips and migrated to the corner of his mouth every time he raised his glass to take a drink. When Lucia slid into the seat beside him and ordered a martini, Luca side-eyed her with an abrupt grunt.

"What?" She questioned in offense. "Aren't martinis what women in America drink?"

Luca took another sip of the amber liquid and turned towards her, point blank. "You should have married Giuseppe Morello."

Lucia rolled her eyes. Suddenly he wasn't the fearsome killer, bloodthirsty for revenge. He was Luca Changretta, older brother. And she wasn't his mortal enemy. She was Lucia Changretta, baby sister, little Luci, sorellina. "Morello's been in prison since 1910."

"He got out," he scanned the room to make sure they weren't being watched. "By order of President Harding himself."

"Well, it pays to have friends in high places."

"You would have made him a good wife."

Lucia did the maths quickly in her head. "Yes," she sardonically drawled, "it would be easy to be a wife to a man who is twenty-four years my elder. Like a dog, he's probably set in his ways now that he's 59 years of age."

"That's not what I meant, sorellina."

"What _did_ you mean?" Lucia demanded. "If I hear you say another goddamn thing about Giuseppe Morello, I'll strangle you. You have never seen me as a person. I was always just a pawn to you. For more money, more alliances, more power."

The insistence in her voice made Luca chuckle to himself. She was so sure it was the truth. "You would have had a good life. He is the don of all dons. _Capo di tutti i capi,_ sorellina. I was looking out for your future. You could have had all of New York City under your heel. But," he leaned back and waved away what could have been, "you're in this shithole of a city, married to a man who uses the same techniques men like Morello have long since perfected. You should be sitting in furs being driven around in expensive cars. _Safe_ while all the men do the fighting."

Lucia listened with a grim cloud looming over her head. She started off taking slow sips of the martini placed before her but soon tipped it back to fuel the fire set ablaze in the pit of her stomach. Reaching her arm out, she pulled the whiskey from her brother and another furnace ignited the instant the liquid hit the back of her throat. She nearly coughed but sealed her lips shut - hoping to suppress both the cough and fire she'd set ablaze through her chest, muttering "What a pleasant fiction," once the alcohol numbed her enough to resume the conversation.

Instead of running after Thomas Shelby all her life, Lucia could have saved herself from twenty years of unnecessary suffering. She mulled over the life she could have had with Giuseppe Morello. Perhaps she could have learned to love him. Perhaps he would have been gentle with her, kind to her. "What a pleasant fiction," Lucia repeated under her breath. It was more to convince herself that it was just fantasy and that reality was always far more painful.

After several moments under the same gloomy cloud, Luca leaned back in his chair, folded his hands over his chest, and said, "Let me give you one last piece of advice - consider it parting words from the older brother I used to be."

"You'll be my older brother always."

"Not always." He pulled the toothpick from his mouth and dropped it into her empty martini glass. "Here it is. You shouldn't have called me here. Unless you are looking to take control of your husband's empire, I won't let you betray him. It's a matter of principle. _Honor_ ," he pinched his fingertips together with emphasis. "Go home and be a good Italian wife to your gypsy husband."

"You talk about principle and honor, but what about family? All my life I've only heard: The family comes first, don't abandon family, always trust family! And all you've done has been to abandon and push me aside. You're my blood, Luca!"

Luca ignored the question. "How long did you think you could balance it? One foot with us, one foot with them? No, Luci," he waggled his index finger in objection. "You chose which family your loyalties lie. Now be a real woman and die with your husband." Beginning to button his jacket, Luca was preparing to leave but his sister caught him by the arm and pulled him back into his seat.

"I want to make a deal," she insisted. "My life in exchange to spare them. Papà's death, Angel's death...it was my fault. Their blood is on my hands. The Blinders would have burnt down Angel's restaurant and left it at that. Now let me do right for both of them. I," her voice faltered at Luca's body language. It was too rigid. He had already decided to deny her. "Yes, you're right, I did choose the Shelby's over our family. But, however misguided, it was in favor of peace. I started this blood war, so it should end with me."

Her brother shook his head vehemently. "That, I cannot do. If you were family, I might have considered it. I might have written it off as an error of judgement and killed you with respect. Killed you with some dignity and honor." Luca absently swirled the remaining whiskey in his glass. The amber liquid jostled and jumped, nearly spilling onto the polished bar top. "But," his voice dipped low and menacing, "you are not my family and you have no honor. We will fight this vendetta until the end, and you will watch when I put a bullet through your husband's eye." Taking hold of his hat, Luca Changretta stepped away from the bar. "You are not my blood," he ended. "Don't ever come to me again. We're strangers now."

Lucia bit the inside of her cheek and mirrored his fierce gaze though it made the hairs on her body stand on end. As he wrinkled his nose in disgust once more for good measure, she wanted to sink into the comfort of the shadows again - suddenly wanted to be part of the heritage she had left behind along with her family. It was all shadows to her.

Rising from the bar, Lucia Shelby clutched her purse and walked out of the building. Many people watched, took note, and word had already been sent to her husband, but Lucia, on determined legs, stepped into the cold and toward the Italian Quarter of Birmingham on Bordesley Street.

As a girl she was known by all the ice cream street sellers. "Piccola signorina," they would call with warm smiles under bushy mustaches. _Little miss._ Now the streets weren't as empty as they used to be despite the January cold. At the corner of Bordesley and Bartholomew, a thin man stood alongside his ice cart, bundled against the elements in a coat with more holes and sewed on patches to count.

"Padre," Lucia crossed the street and gestured to his cart, ignoring the pointed stares and whispered gossip from Italian men and women alike. "Padre, quanto per tutto il ghiaccio nel tuo carrello?" _Father, how much for all the ice in your cart?_

The old man turned about slowly, his legs stiff with the cold, to get a better look at her face with his aged eyes. His eyebrows danced as he squinted and studied her face before finally settling on half a pound for the whole cart of sweets. Lucia cracked a smile at his honesty and placed a ten pound note in his palm. It was twenty times the price of his products and the old man couldn't help but blink at such a sum just there in his hand. It was the most money he had ever held in his life - a year's wages for an average laborer.

He pointed a gnarled finger at her through worn gloves. "C'era una ragazza come te in queste strade molto tempo fa. La conosci?" _There was a girl like you on these streets long ago. Do you know her?_

"Yes." Lucia searched his tired face, the graying hairs on his mustache and the wrinkles along his cheeks from years of laughter despite living in crippling poverty. "Quella ragazza è morta." _That girl is dead_.

Instructing him to give the ice creams to little children and to keep the money as a blessing from her to his family, Lucia walked with her head held high through the Italian Quarter towards the markets.

Unlike her husband, Lucia wasn't made to part fearful crowds. Instead, and much to her discomfort, the crowds gravitated towards her. They watched through windows, doorways, and bare-faced on the streets, but Lucia walked on toward the stalls filled with ice-frosted vegetables, jars of homemade olive oils, and bottles of strong anisette. The whole block smelt homely but she didn't feel like she was at home. Lucia quickly paid for what she needed, tucked a loaf of rosemary focaccia and a bottle of campari under her arm, and hurried back to Small Heath.

Since home didn't seem to be a place anymore, only proved by the scowling faces around her, Lucia was determined to make home with her own two hands. She bustled into the kitchen of Watery Lane, kneaded dough to roll out her spaghetti, chopped up vegetables, mixed campari with a splash of the bottomless gin that never seemed to leave the house, and then leaned over the boiling pot of sauce on the stove - an image of Mary Shelby herself. That's how Tommy found her.

"What are you doing?" he asked, perplexed.

She brushed aside a stray tendril of hair that had escaped from the headscarf. The top buttons of her blouse were undone and an apron was tied around her waist to keep the sauce from spitting onto her skirt. Face pink from standing over the steam, Lucia looked up. _Trying to find home_ , she wanted to say. Instead she smiled and said, "being a good Italian wife."

Using focaccia to mop up a bit of sauce, Lucia directed it into Tommy's mouth. "Is it good?" she asked before he could swallow. He nodded even though it was too hot to taste anything except the bread. The bread was good and he figured nodding would be a half-truth to make her happy.

"You won't be going out on business again tonight?" Lucia pulled the coat from his shoulders, draped it over the back of a chair, and put a plateful of food in front of him.

Tommy watched her curiously from where he sat at the head of the table. Lucia bound from the pot of sauce at the stove to the table to the counter and returned with a glass of whiskey. She looked the same as she always did but now strangely disarming, demure, and joyful. On anyone else Tommy would have found it irritating, but on her it was pleasant, gorgeous even.

"Will you be going out again?" She asked again.

He shook his head and waited for her to drop what felt like a façade but Lucia perked up, eyes brightening, chirped in approval, and continued sipping on her campari-gin concoction.

She stared down into the pink liquid and felt exhausted by her sudden cheeriness. The logic behind it all was that she would pretend - pretend to be brave, pretend to be happy, pretend like she didn't wish to have married Morello, pretend to be a "real woman." Pretend, pretend, pretend. It was taxing.

Looking over at Tommy, Lucia could tell how concerned he'd become on her account. She did what a good wife should do: she made dinner from scratch, she greeted her husband with liveliness, and she planned on fucking his brains out afterwards. She wanted to be everything all at once - a wise confidant, a dangerous marksman, a gentle wife, a sexual goddess, a brilliant cook, a loving mother-figure for his child. 

Lucia reached the bottom of her glass and refilled it again, this time just with gin. It was stronger and it stoked the furnace inside her belly in all the ways she needed. Though he only saw her shoulders fall forward, Tommy could recognize the difference in her demeanor. The façade was gone. She was back to being Lucia now.

"You spoke to Luca today?"

She wheeled around, the brim of the glass pressed to her jaw, looking anywhere but at him. "I didn't betray you, I only wanted him to think I was capable of it." Expecting anger, disappointment, and betrayal, Lucia was surprised to see how calm he looked. Tommy leaned back in the chair with an arm hanging off the back and slid the half eaten plate away.

"To what end?" he asked evenly. When she refused to answer, the chair groaned as he stood and he said, "you tried to be a sacrificial lamb and Luca said no, didn't he? So what's all this about?" He waved lazily at her apron and the food she had prepared.

 _Pretend, pretend, pretend_ , the voice in her head screamed. _Pretending to be the wife of Giuseppe Morello so I don't have to face death with you, Thomas Shelby._

The glass in her hand was abandoned beside the stove. What had happened to the strong woman she used to be? Two conversations with her older brother and she was sinking, doubting, and struggling to reach the surface for air. Luca was a cancer and Lucia was falling victim to it again. She questioned herself, questioned her husband's love, questioned her brother's hatred. What was the use of building a home when it stood right in front of her in the shape of Thomas Shelby?

"I am sorry for how difficult I've made things for you." She took up the gin again and anxiously pulled the liquid down her throat. "I've spent so long trying to escape my family and now...they're dead and gone. But Luca was all I had left. He tried to sell me into a marriage, threw me into the bloody Cut, and still I tried to do right by him." Lucia laughed at herself. It was ridiculous. "I'm all here," she assured. "I didn't betray you. I'm no _traditrice_."

"Alright." Tommy lit the cigarette poised between his lips. "I believe you, and I trust you. Next time," he swung his hand out sending ashes drifting to the floor, "tell me. Don't let me find out about it from Lizzie Stark, eh?"

"Aye. But we could use it to our advantage," Lucia slowly posed. "Luca thinks I'm the weakest link. We can use it at our most opportune time."

Tommy wasn't angry. In fact, he was pleased. The opportune time had only to present itself. With Luca Changretta on his heel, the Shelby's were caught in the defensive. With Lucia Changretta on his side, clawing their way up to the offensive became much easier.

Lucia began towards the parlour taking Tommy by the wrist as she walked past. "Charlie is with Ada and Polly is at hospital with Michael." She looked over her shoulder and Tommy caught a glimpse of a peculiar glimmer in the pools of her brown eyes. "I have a gift for you."

Left on the couch, Tommy watched his wife disappear up the stairs. The floorboards shifted and he heard _it_ the moment she stepped down toward the parlor where he sat.

Lucia cocked her head toward him when she entered the parlor and Tommy immediately recognized the wolfish look. He braced himself under the intensity of her gaze. It was loving, sensual, wicked. She stood above him, teasing his knees apart so she could drift closer. Slowly, so slow that Tommy still didn't have enough time to control the desire within himself, she lifted her foot and placed it on his knee. She tugged her skirts up past her ankle, her shins, her knees, until she bared her leg before him.

An anklet was tied around the soft curve of her foot. Little beads, metal flowers, and tinkling bells hung from the thin silver chain. Tommy leaned forward, grazing his fingertips up her legs and under her warm thighs.

"Who gave it to you?"

"Your _nad'ram-tom_ ," she answered in Shelta. _Grandmother_. "Birdie told me I had to wear it for you when you finally married me."

Tommy raked hungry eyes up from the marriage anklets, up her bare leg, and paused at the way her breasts stretched the buttons on her blouse, threatening to spill out if not freed. His gaze drew up her neck, her lips, and Tommy held his breath when he saw the insatiable desire in her eyes.

Easing down to straddle in his lap, Lucia pressed herself flush against his chest, fingers dragging through his hair. She peppered wet kisses into his jaw, his throat, his cheeks, guiding his hands from her ass up her body to her chest, rolling her hips down against him, trying to feel how hard he was. Trying to angle it _just right_.

"Thank you for believing me," Lucia's hot breath fanned past his ear.

Tommy gripped her thighs tighter and bucked his hips to thrust deeper inside. "You're not good at lying to me."

"No, I'm not. I love you too much it seems." Her words were broken by soft moans, desperately trying to even her breaths. "When does Aberama Gold caravan in?"

"Tomorrow. Luc, I -" His fingertips dug into her soft skin, wavering. Tommy ripped his eyes from the steady roll of her body against his and the way her breasts bounced through the thin blouse. The twinkling bells on her anklets rang in his ears, mixed into her moans and her feel and her warmth.

"We'll have to be up early. I have to take the empty bottles from the Garrison -" another moan, "and - and I'll…Fuck!" Lucia felt a dull sensation build around her clit. She clamped her mouth shut. It was a small feeling until it wasn't - until it plunged into the deepest parts of herself and Lucia held on as tight as she could, fingernails digging into Tommy's shoulders, leaning down to bite his bottom lip between ragged breaths.

Tommy grunted through the pain but, when her body relaxed and his strokes became slower and longer, he couldn't hold it in anymore. His member seemed to overtake whatever control his brain had and all Tommy could feel was the way she pulsed around him, the wetness and warmth. It felt like home.

Everything went still. Lucia doubled, nuzzling her nose into the curve of his neck, desperately trying to catch her breath. Wrapping his arms around her, Tommy felt his cum drip out of her. He shifted into a more comfortable position and lit a cigarette.

"There's a woman arriving from London tomorrow," he said, "We're fixing races and she needs to train our newest filly. Meet her by the Cut."

"And this woman...you slept with her?"

Tommy pulled the smoke into his mouth and didn't answer.

"Hmm. I'll find out soon enough."

"You're not the jealous type, Luc."

She lifted her head from his shoulder and chuckled. "Why should I care how many women you sleep with after all those years of your ma telling me that I need to take care of you. No, I'm not the jealous type. I had the benefit of knowing the end long before it arrived."

They sat in silence exchanging the cigarette back and forth until it was stubbed out.

"Tommy, Luca doesn't have a _consigliere_."

After thirty years of knowing Lucia, Tommy was familiar with most of the Italian words and phrases she would use but he wasn't familiar with this term. It showed as much on his face,

" _Consigliere_ ," she repeated. "An advisor to the don. Luca doesn't have one. Which means he's not a don. Which means he's answering to someone else. Could be the Morello Family, Masseria, Maranzano, Luciano."

"Capone?"

Lucia shook her head. "No. The New York Five Families don't deal with Capone. A bunch of savages, they are, in Chicago. Mad dogs and rowdies that follow their own rules. They're the black sheep of our world. No, Luca received protection from Sabini and Sabini works with Magaddino in Buffalo. Stefano Magaddino is a bootlegger." She paused. "You need to call Solomons. We need to get in on the bootlegging trade now to pose an advantage."

"I'm not involving Solomons, Luc."

"We need him," she insisted and reached across the couch for the phone on the side table. "I'll call him then."

Tommy yanked her back. "Solomons will call when he can benefit from it. Until then, don't give him your voice. I have another plan."

* * *

 **AN** : Terms, Phrases & People:

 _Capo di tutti i capi_ translates to "the don of all dons". _  
_

Morello, Masseria, Maranzano, Luciano, and Magaddino were all prominent figures in New York Cities organized crime syndicates during this time.

* * *

**Preview for chapter 12:**

May Carleton cautiously took a seat, eyeing the exits, ready to block a punch if it was thrown.

"Did you sleep with my husband?"


	12. Generous

Lucia was perched on top of an empty crate with one leg extended out, dress hitched up to her knee to avoid splatters of petrol. It was an unladylike pose, almost scandalous, but she didn't care and nobody would dare look at her for too long. She was leaned over a collection of bottles recycled from the Garrison as well as puddles of dirty rags that the younger Blinders had stolen from their mothers' kitchens.

Tommy, leaning against the wall beside his wife, breathing the same air saturated with petrol, admired her quick fingers filling each bottle with equal parts petrol and oil and shoving a rag halfway in with a stretch of twine securing it to the mouth of the bottle.

A long line of Blinders stood in line in front of them waiting to receive a pistol from Charlie and ammunition from Curly. Each man, dressed in pressed shirts under crisp suits, pulled off their caps to show their sharp haircuts. It was the mark of a real Blinder.

Tommy squatted down on his haunches to ask Lucia, "will this be enough men?"

"You're asking me?" A wide grin and mischievous eyes brightened her face, "Tommy Shelby, am I your wartime _consigliere_?" She carefully set the bottle she was working on down to the ground to hold his face. Her fingertips outlined the curve of his smile and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes before yanking him in for a kiss, unable to control herself.

Tommy wasn't Sicilian so giving Lucia the title of a _consigliere_ didn't _really_ hold any weight anywhere but between them. Growing up, Lucia had studied her father and his _consigliere_ discuss plans of expansion further into Birmingham, of finding ways to prepare Luca to be the next capo of the Changretta regime, and of expanding their business overseas. A _consigliere_ was the advisor, the right-hand man, the auxiliary brain. A good _consigliere_ was able to navigate the family through wartime and peacetime alike, but Tommy didn't need help with his plans during peacetime. He needed her now, as his wartime advisor.

"But, to answer your question," she blinked away the loving doe-eyed stare that she'd been stuck in, "there's enough of 'em if we're counting Aberama's men. We have an advantage here in Small Heath. It's changed a lot since Luca left. He won't start with large-scale attacks. You should look out for single gunmen, snipers, incendiary men. He'll look to pick off the weakest of the bunch first."

"Hmm," Tommy mused but before he could pick her brain further, Lucia had scrambled to her feet and marched toward the line of men waiting for their designated weapons.

"Oy!" She jabbed her finger past Charlie and Curly at a blond haired man. "Not him," she growled before Charlie could hand over a pistol.

"What 'chu mean, love?" The blond man confidently retorted, dragged his hand over the slight disfiguration along his jawline, and pointed to his head. "Look at the hair."

She narrowed her eyes down at him. "You're a long way from Lambeth, dove. This isn't your fight."

The self-assurance on his face morphed into annoyance. "What the fuck you on about, you crazy broad?"

Before Tommy could intervene or any of the other men could throw a punch, Lucia brought the butt of her palm swiftly to the man's nose, properly breaking it. The man cupped his hands to catch the blood spouting from his nostrils, two Blinders grabbing hold of his arms and dragging him away for another beating and one-way ticket back to London.

"Words getting around," she shrugged to Tommy, wiping her hand in the folds of her skirts. "If they're coming down from London, you'll get these boys coming down from Liverpool next, and then Manchester. You better talk to Alfie before Luca does, Tom."

Guiding her by the small of her back, Tommy led her away from the crowds toward the farthest corner of Charlie's Yard. Beside the quiet rush of the Cut, a large structure stood with a rusted latch bolted to the wooden door. Lucia had always seen the building but had never dared peek through the high windows to look down inside. Tommy unlocked the latch and the door shuddered open.

"Fuckin' hell, Tom," Lucia whistled low, pirouetting around the room to soak it all in. There were large valves snaking along the wall meeting up at towering vats, dozens of bottles had already been filled and sealed. She turned to him with a wry grin. "This is why there's so much fuckin' gin around the house."

Tommy stood by the door, hands in his pockets, casual and suave as all hell. From the shelves lined with sealed bottles of gin behind him, he cracked one open and poured a small portion into a glass, extending it out for a taste.

"How long have you been planning this?" She asked, taking a pause before bringing the cup to her lips. "Hmm," Lucia quirked her head up in thought. "Where did you collect the junipers from?"

"I made arrangements with some Herefordshire farmers," was all he said.

Lucia focused her gaze at him, deep in thought, taking another sip. "Could be sweeter."

"Since the start of prohibition," he sauntered over to the large vats and carried a crate full of bottles to the tasting table, making note of her critique, "I've been sending single malt, scotch whiskey to Boston and Halifax, Nova Scotia hidden in crates in car parts."

She laughed to herself, studying each corked bottle in the crate, "brilliant." Picking the one she wanted Tommy to uncork, Lucia waved the mouth of the bottle under her nose and recoiled approvingly at the aroma that smacked her in the face. "Yep," she pinched her nostrils to alleviate the burning from the alcohol, "that's good. Smells like your dad's recipe."

"Because it is his recipe."

Lucia took a tentative sip straight from the bottle and recoiled again with approval, slapping Tommy on the back to keep herself from coughing. "Do you remember," she began with a deep inhale, "when he didn't seal the mash up properly? The pot exploded and nearly scalded us to bits. The whole street smelt horrible for days!"

"He was so angry," Tommy laughed at the distant memory. It was on the long list of disappointing memories of his disappointing father. "He kept using that mash. It tasted horrible once it was done."

"It did!" She agreed emphatically. "We couldn't have been six or seven. What was he thinking?! Ma Mary was just as angry. I thought she'd tear his hide."

It was the first time Tommy had heard her refer to his mother as her own. "Take good care of Lucia, love," Mary Shelby had told him days before her death, "she's good for you." Tommy hadn't understood his mother's instruction and couldn't see how Lucia Changretta could be good for him. Just as fast as Lucia ran towards him, Tommy ran away from her to Greta to Lizzie to Grace to May. He hadn't wanted his life dictated by any Mincéirí prophecies. But now that he was older and much more broken, Tommy realized that life could have been easier if he had just listened.

Lucia's smile didn't falter under his stillness. "That was back when it was just me, you, and Arthur. John was too young."

"It's back to being just us again." He instinctively reached for his cigarette tin but remembered the petrol on his wife's skirts and the large vats of flammable alcohol mere steps away.

"So," Lucia stubbed the cork back into the bottle after a few more leisurely sips, "these are going to Boston then?"

Tommy nodded.

"I know just the man to call to sweeten the deal, so to speak."

"Which man is that?"

"I'll tell you once I've reached him," she answered with an impish grin.

Tommy looked down at her evenly, trying to ascertain what the mischief could possibly mean. With her, he could never tell if it was innocuous or not. Did she fuck this man or just know him? There was no way Tommy could interpret it. Either way, a dark twinge of possessiveness had already shadowed his face. So much so that Lucia could easily spot it.

"Oh, Tommy," she brought a warm hand to his cheek, voice dripping with exaggerated pity, "I've always forgotten you were the jealous one between us. It's usually masked so well behind that beautiful face." His facial features started to curl with annoyance and Lucia threw her head back in mirth. Getting under his skin continued to be a very satisfying victory even after thirty years of friendship. "When is your lady love arriving?"

"Christ, Luc, have you always been this annoying?"

She clapped his face fondly. "Best get used to it. You've agreed to a lifetime sentence with me."

"Her name is May Carleton. Been training our horses since Epsom. She's coming from the station by barge in an hour and you'll meet her just outside. Bring her in here, give her a taste of the gin. Tell her I'll meet her in the afternoon to look over the filly and sign paperwork."

"She's coming all the way here for paperwork? In the midst of a war? Should I carry her overnight bag before you two fuck or would you prefer to?"

Tommy groaned and poured himself another glass muttering, "you'll be the death of me" before taking the whiskey in one go.

"I just want to make sure she's well taken care of for you," Lucia bit the inside of her cheek to stifle her giggles, trying to appear as genuine and generous as possible. "What kind of wife would I be otherwise?"

After latching the lock securely to the door again, Tommy handed over the key and began toward the line of Blinders waiting to receive ammunition. Lee boys were perched on rooftops, rifles extended between their arms, on the lookout for Luca's men. Despite the impending doom looming overhead, Lucia had an extra skip in her step from her successful teasing and resumed her work filling bottles and plugging it with a rag. Luca would surely plan an ambush and she wanted to be ready.

Though Polly and Johnny Dogs were dreading the arrival of Aberama Gold, Lucia was excited for it. Birdie Boswell had taught Lucia how to read palms and tea leaves and how to be wary of supernatural deities, but it was Aberama Gold that taught her to light fires and skin rabbits and understand the voice of trees. Running away from an arranged marriage hadn't been as horrible when she woke up each morning on rich earth and watched the leaves dancing overhead. It was much easier to learn Shelta when she could forget Italian.

Lucia was pulled from her memories when she felt a gentle nudge on her shoulder. She looked up to see Aberama Gold, Bonnie by his side with three other men, stride down toward Charlie's Yard with rifles propped up on their shoulders, through the smoke like conquering heroes, directing hungry eyes at every corner of the place until they came to a stop in front of Charlie.

"I like your yard, Mr. Strong." Aberama spoke with the certainty of a man who took what wanted no matter the price. "How much would you take for it?"

Charlie looked up from the hooks and chains he was about to hang a pig on for smoking. "It's not for sale."

"Not for sale?" Aberama repeated, shifting where he stood with a Cheshire grin. "Okay." It was a challenge.

Lucia watched from several paces back, where she had been told to stay, carefully studying the way Aberama approached the fire pit where Tommy and Arthur stood waiting.

"I just took a look around," Aberama's voice overtook the rattle of chains and the hissing from the fire. "I like this place. Fire for melting silver, canals to take it away. How much?"

"Nothing you see is for sale, Mr. Gold." Tommy pinched a cigarette to his lips while Arthur took another swig from his flask - Shelby whiskey most likely.

Aberama chuckled. "Oh, everything is for sale. Everything. You tell Mr. Strong I'm going to buy his yard."

"This yard has been in his family since they settled."

"But I have decided to make it part of our deal."

After a long moment, Tommy, a penny in his palm, called Charlie to join them at the fire pit. "We're going to spin a coin for your yard, Charlie. If it's heads, Abby here takes all of this...with my blessing. If it's tails -"

"No," Aberama put his hand up. He could tell Tommy would propose an unsatisfying bargain so he was looking to mitigate the risk. He knew Lucia since she was sixteen. She couldn't hurt a fly and she was dull to boot. "Where's your new bride? We'll let her decide."

Tommy turned his head back towards the corner where Lucia sat wiping bottles down so it wouldn't go up in flames later by a stray cigarette ember. "Luc," he called.

As Lucia stepped forward, covered in grease and stinking of petrol, Aberama smirked at the sight of her. " _Pretty new bride or a dirty little cow_?" he wondered out loud in Shelta, beaming proudly at his quip when Arthur and Tommy remained quiet and grim.

Feigning ignorance to what he had said, she took the coin from Tommy. It felt cold against her skin as she turned it between her fingers. "What am I supposed to do?" she asked softly, purposefully and painfully naïve.

"Heads, I get the yard." Aberama Gold's shoulders slumped with irritation as though he was surprised at himself for not anticipating her idiocy all along. "You decide the wager on tails."

"So," she started slowly, cocking her head to the side to understand his instructions better, "whatever I say goes if it lands on tails?"

"Yes, that's how it works," he drawled impatiently.

"Okay." Lucia's shoulders squared and a ferocity darkened under her knitted brows. "Tails, and my husband fucks your daughter, Mr. Gold." Wheezing laughter peppered among the Blinders. Even Tommy cracked a smile. "He'll have Esmerelda, of course. I remember her. She's the eldest and the prettiest."

"I preferred you better as the lovesick fool, Luci." Aberama sneered, catching the coin she tossed across the pit, and reluctantly eyed Tommy, waiting for an objection but Tommy did not protest to the arrangement. Hiding his anger well under the broad rim of his hat, Aberama rotated the coin and considered whether the yard was worth the risk of his daughter's dignity. It wasn't. "Tommy Shelby OBE, no wager today."

" _Ought to set a wager to get this fool a new hat_ ," Lucia muttered in Shelta. It was loud enough for Aberama Gold to hear and it came as no surprise. He had taught her the language after all.

"With this penny," he held it up, looking between Tommy and his cow of a wife. "I will buy a flower to put on your grave...when the time comes. Whichever one of you falls first."

"And before that time," Tommy stepped between Lucia and Aberama, "please don't again disrespect my friends or their valued property."

When the rest of the men gathered around hastily adjusted tables throwing back bottles of beer and rum, Lucia pulled Tommy aside. Her eyes were wide with disbelief. "When did you get an OBE?"

"It was a favor from the King," he casually shrugged.

"A favor from the King? His Majesty the King? Our King? King fuckin' George awarded you the OBE?" The words sounded so foreign yet so familiar on her tongue. _It pays to have friends in high places._

Tommy nodded again and broke out into a wide grin at her fluster.

She snaked a hand into his open coat to pinch his side, matching his grin. "You cheeky bastard."

* * *

"May Carleton?" Lucia strolled leisurely forward to the barge, hands stuffed into the pockets of her skirts, and squinted against the afternoon sun peeking through the dusty clouds.

May stepped off the barge with shaky knees and looked around for Tommy. She hadn't come all the way to London to see anyone else. "Yes?"

Lucia looked her up and down. She turned her nose up at the fine furs lining the woman's coat, the expensive hat poised over brown tendrils of hair that perfectly fluttered in the breeze over a square jaw. Only mildly amused, Lucia couldn't help a contained snort. "Follow me, please." Turning on her heel, she briskly began toward the distillery leaving May to hurry along. "Tommy sends his regards. He'll see you in a bit to sign your paperwork and square away payment," she casually threw over her shoulder.

"I don't think I caught your name." May clutched her purse and cautiously looked around at the rough parts of Charlie's Yard where bonfires were left in blackened ash and wooden beams were discarded along the shallows of the Cut.

"Lucia." She unlocked the shuddering door and gestured May inside. "Shelby."

May took a pause from peering into the building and wheeled around. "Tommy's sister?" she asked warily.

"His wife. Take a seat." Lucia gestured to the tasting table at the far end of the room and picked up the crate of whiskey and gin that Tommy had shown her earlier. "My husband wanted your opinion on some of his ventures." She poured out a portion of whiskey and then gin.

May cautiously sat down, eyeing the exits, ready to block a punch if it was thrown. She watched Lucia fill two glasses in front of her and settle in the seat opposite, only a flimsy wooden table separating them.

"Did you sleep with my husband, Mrs. Carleton?"

Fidgeting with the purse still gripped tightly between gloved fingers, May couldn't answer through dry lips.

"Oh dear," Lucia laughed, straightening in her seat, suddenly less imposing and hostile, "don't be afraid! I don't blame you. In fact, I understand. Tommy is..." she looked around to search for the word. "He's _exciting_. You look into his eyes and you see eternity and you see hell, but all you can do is wish you could attend every funeral for the person he could have been and used to be. I've known him all my life. I know every scar on his body, every inch of his soul, and every bit of pain he felt I felt it too." Lucia reached across the table and nudged the gin towards May first.

"It's too sweet," May said after a taste, still refusing to look fully at Mrs. Shelby.

"What a woman you are," Lucia briefly admired. "How unlucky for you though. Meeting not one but both of his wives and never getting a shot for yourself. But, quite literally, that's probably an entry-level requirement for marrying Thomas Shelby; getting shot, I mean," she clarified with a chortle. "Have you been shot, Mrs. Carleton? Or stabbed?"

May shook her head, releasing a white knuckled grip on her purse to chase the gin down with whiskey. "No, I haven't been shot. I train horses."

"And Tommy tells me you're very good. He said you took one of his horses to Epsom."

"Grace's Secret, yes."

"Ah, yes," Lucia nodded. "That's the one. I distinctly remember thinking how Tommy was never good with names when I first heard _Grace's Secret_. What have you decided to name the newest filly?"

"Dangerous."

"A nod after my husband, I presume?" She crossed her arms across her chest, focusing wholly on May now instead of the wide valves running along the walls. "I hope I'm not making you uncomfortable."

"No, not all." It was a bold-faced lie but May had faltered under Lucia's pointed gaze. "Have you and Tommy been married long? There was no news of it in the papers."

Pouring a splash of gin to see for herself whether it was too sweet or not, Lucia took a moment before answering. She looked up with kinder eyes and a warmer smile than before though it was still an unnerving sight for May who had been properly flummoxed since the start of the whole conversation. "I've loved Tommy since he..." Lucia floundered and attempted to start again, "We haven't been married long. A few weeks. Ever since my brother, who we're currently at war with, mind you, threw me into the Cut. Tommy saved me," she said softly and looked down at the driblets of gin that soaked into the wood tabletop. "Tommy has saved me many times in my life. He's a good man, but there's no changing him. That's what his first wife wanted to do. Change him - to rein in his ambition and his purpose like one of his horses. But there's no changing the wild thing that claws out of him, May. Not many women could come along for the ride."

"And you could?"

"Yes. His first wife may have taken one bullet for him, but I've taken two. With one hand Tommy ruined my life just to build it back up around me with the other. With one hand he nearly puts a bullet in my head, and with the other he pulls me out from the Cut like John the Baptist."

The fear fell from May's face and, suddenly, she felt very sad for Mrs. Shelby. Earn Tommy, she most certainly did. May recognized the pain in Lucia's eyes, years of suffering clouded into mist behind the idea of _deserving_ something, anything from it all. Tommy was the prize, the endgame, the coup de grâce. May Carleton had indeed missed her shot and she was beginning to feel gratitude for the woman who had generously taken the shot before her.

Saying their goodbyes, May took Lucia's hand in hers with a quick squeeze and comforting smile. "Good luck with your war."

"Thank you," Lucia answered with geniality and curiously watched May disappear with a Blinder. How strange, she thought to herself.

Charlie's Yard was abandoned when Lucia had locked the distillery and pocketed the key. The only proofs of former life were toppled chairs, empty bottles strewn across a mismatch of tables, and cigarette butts littered by her feet. There was no sight of Aberama either. As she meandered through the yard, around empty rifle crates and puddles, Lucia caught sight of Polly, cigarette in hand, staring out towards the hill John's body had been burned weeks earlier.

"You alright, Pol?" She approached with discretion.

Without the hassle of moving, Polly answered. "Arthur told me you broke a lad's nose this morning. How could you tell he was from Lambeth?"

"Those New Cut boys," she looked down at the butt of her palm and spotted dried flecks of blood on her fate lines. Birdie had taught her about palm reading too. "They're too stubborn to see doctors. When they break a bone they let it set how it heals and it fucks up their face."

"You're getting sharp, girl, just like our Mary swore you would."

"Yeah? What else did she say about me?"

Polly, with a sideways look, cracked a smile. "Mary had more to say about you than her own children. She was given a gift that even I don't have. She could see the future in a much clearer way than anyone else I've met. Whatever it was, you have become exactly what she said would: clever, resilient, sensible. Tommy looks down at the world from his lofty ambitions. You, you see it from the ground. You keep him from floating off up to," her fingers fluttered up into the sky, sending a curled trail of pale-blue smoke with it, "God knows where."

"I," Lucia slowly began, "I have been meaning to talk to you about some plans for expansion for when this is all over."

Polly scoffed, sending another curl of smoke rippling between her lips. "Brave of you to assume we'll get out of this alive."

"What if we expanded out past Small Heath and Bordesley? Out to Nechells and Aston, Newtown and Ladywood. Fuckin' Harborne, even. We do it like the Italians have done in America, we make businesses and families pay for our protection."

"We can't charge our own people!"

"No, not the people already within our territory. We expand out, make them pay us for protection, and soon we'll have all of Birmingham with some extra cash in our vaults. Might save on costs to extort the coppers if we have the people and businesses under our thumb. Our Tommy, with his lofty ambitions, will have more pocket change to buy out the larger politicians when the time comes."

Polly pulled at her cigarette and considered it. "Have you told him this?"

Lucia shook her head. "He's been busy with the war and the gin. And the horses. If only he was born Sicilian, he would have been _capo dei capi_. The don of all dons." She tacked on to the end, "I've no fuckin' idea how he manages it all."

"He won't have to anymore, he has you."

"I'm not an enforcer. I can't burn down restaurants and beat people to a pulp. That's Arthur and John." Her voice dropped. " _Was_ John."

"I'm not asking you to do that either," Polly flicked the cigarette into the water with finality, turning to square with Lucia. "Women can glide through this life under the guise of being good and moral and innocent, mothers and homemakers. You're too established in this world to fall into that." She was starting to sound like a protective mother figure again. "Women like you and me, we have our mind. We have strings attached to our men and we know when to pull and when to be still. _You_ are Tommy's greatest strength, and he's beginning to see it too. Pull on those strings when it feels right."

* * *

The long day ended in the quiet of Tommy's office. Lucia poked her head through the door to see her husband sitting behind his desk, head buried in his hands, tied loosened and jacket hanging half off the corner of his chair.

"Is May back to London," she teased, "or will you be meeting her at a hotel tonight?"

"Who is the man?"

"What?" Lucia nearly laughed, coming up behind the desk. "You're still on about that?"

He looked up, exhausted, and desperate for her not to take the piss out of him. "Who's the man, Luc?"

Lucia walked into his extended arms and let him wrap himself around her. Her fingers carded through the soft tufts of hair until he looked youthful and boyish. "Antonio Lombardo. Consigliere to Capone."

"And how do you know him?"

"Oh, I've fucked him a couple of times."

With a groan, Tommy began to unwind his arms and fall back into the chair but Lucia tripped over her own laughter trying to console him.

"Oh, my darling," she pulled his arms back in place around her waist, "I'm sorry! Luca wasn't the only one who tried to make me a match with a man in America. Noni did too when I first went to Sicily. With her grandson, Antonio Lombardo. Unlike my brother, Noni had good sense to recommend a man my age."

"Alright," he consented, satisfied with the answer. His jealousy was pacified. "What's the benefit of going through Chicago instead of the New York families?"

"They don't involve themselves in the business of the other families - think themselves too important. Magaddino works out of Buffalo so he isn't using his own ports to ship weapons to Luca. He's using ports owned by the New York families. A little favor between families strengthens ties. We can get the same ties to Chicago if I make one phone call. Stop the whiskey shipments to Boston. Lombardo and Capone will get us access to ports along the east coast. Charleston, Norfolk, Baltimore - they have a major railway going out west." Lucia held her husband's face. "Chicago is a wasteland. They don't abide by the rules of warfare like the rest of the American families. Tom, if we have Chicago in our back pockets, we - Why are you smiling?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm not your wife right now," Lucia said with a grin and noted the glimmer in his eyes. "I'm your _consigliere_. Your advisor. Let me be the other side of your brain. You don't have to do this alone anymore."

Tommy nodded. "Stop the shipments to Boston then?"

"Yes, but keep it delivering to Nova Scotia. Magaddino doesn't go that far east. Charleston, Norfolk, Baltimore," she repeated. "We can't go too far south or we'll lose money. Those people make their own moonshine and our tastes differ too much."

Tommy leaned back. After a moment of consideration he agreed. What she said would be done. He fumbled with the paperwork on his desk, took up a pen to resume work but threw it down seconds later.

"If I had listened to you, years ago," he posed, "do you think we still would have found each other?"

"Of course not. This is the only road we can walk together." Lucia leaned against his desk, ankles crossed. "I miss the person you were with Greta. That person wouldn't have been right for me, but I loved seeing you so happy. Poor Greta Jurossi. She was so good for you."

"I don't think she would have been good for the man I am now."

"Well, you wouldn't be the man you are now if she was still alive."

"And Grace?" Tommy watched carefully while Lucia composed herself, stammering and settling with a sheepish smile.

She scrubbed her hand along her face. There was a lot she was prepared to say about Grace but that was the dead mother of his child. "I couldn't say. I barely knew her. All I know is that you are too ambitious for legitimate business." _Your skills would have been wasted with Grace_ , is what Lucia wanted to say. "You're going to do great things, Tommy Shelby. And now you've finally found a woman that's not going to stand in your way." Leaning over to press a kiss to his temple, Lucia adjusted his coat on the back of the chair, made assurances that she would schedule a call with Capone, and disappeared out of his office.

Long after the door had shut and the sound of her footsteps had receded from the stairs, Tommy stared at where she once stood, his face propped up against a loose fist. Of the list of words he had collected over the years to describe her, 'generous' could now be added to it. Generous with her love, her forgiveness, her time and her thoughts. She was generous to miss Greta and to not speak badly of Grace - Lucia, after all, had been the first to see through Grace's act but, despite the warnings, Tommy fell in love with the _traditrice_ anyways.

When he turned off the lamp on his desk and stepped out from his office, Tommy knew what he would see when he went up the stairs. He would see Lucia holding his son, both of them fast asleep under warm covers. And Tommy resolved then that he would apologize for his previous errors in judgement as many times as she would like to hear. It wasn't as generous but it was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview for Chapter 13 | The Trees Said It Would Happen
> 
> "I'm a woman of my word." Lucia pinched his jaw between her fingers and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "Now we're even. Mazal tov, Alfie."


	13. The Trees Said It Would Happen

While Tommy, Ada, Polly, Michael, and Lizzie were having their company meeting, Lucia had come to the factory to drop off a hefty packet thick with documents. Though she was the consigliere she had declined a place on the Shelby Company board. She and Tommy had agreed that it might offer a level of transparency and assurance for the rest of the family that she wasn't a double agent for the Changretta's.

Either way, Lucia was happy to take a back seat to things, namely legitimate business which never seemed to interest her. It was good to leave Small Heath and see new sights on the way to the factory, always with one eye searching rooftops for gunmen. But there was a sober calm knowing she didn't have to worry about being gunned down or bludgeoned. Luca had promised that she would be the last to die.

Another reason Lucia jumped on an opportunity to run errands was to catch Arthur. He hadn't spoken to her since the family meeting weeks earlier and, quietly frankly, Lucia was surprised he had been able to hold out for so long, what with his new found relationship with God. She was impressed by the number Linda had worked on him in their few years of marriage.

Stalking through the factory, insignificant and invisible to the eyes of the men working at large machines and holding rods double their height, Lucia finally reached the metal stairs leading up the offices with a lungful of smoke. Above her there was the rattling of blinds as a door was slammed shut followed by heavy footsteps on the steel walkway. Lucia looked up to see Arthur, without his coat and usual pressed appearance, round the corner and advance down the stairs towards her. A gold cross hung around his neck, glimmering in the streams of sun coming in through the high windows.

"Are you off to the meeting?" She asked with a smile, hoping to get any answer out of him, but Arthur huffed past without a glance. "I'll get him eventually," Lucia decided. He couldn't ignore her forever. They had been friends for thirty years and Arthur was never one to stay mad for long, with his God or not.

Lucia made her way up to his office and pushed the door in with her shoulder. "Fuckin' hell!" Her head swiveled away from Linda, half-dressed and standing over a bin, cleaning between her legs. Waving a hand over her face, flinching at the stench of sex in the room, Lucia finally managed to say, "I'm glad I ran into you. We can finally talk properly now without the children screaming in our ears."

Linda gristled. "It might sound like screaming to you but it's like music to a real mother's ears."

Unaffected at the not-so-subtle insult at her stint at being an adoptive mother to Tommy's son, Lucia carelessly tossed the bundle of documents onto Arthur's desk and began toward the door out to the factory floor.

"Wait, wait!" Linda shouted before Lucia could turn the door handle. She composed herself, wiped sticky hands clean, and was ready to talk. "I don't want Arthur to end this vendetta."

The Sicilian shrugged. A long enough time had passed for her to come to terms with it herself. "It's tradition."

"It has to be you. Or Tommy. You both started this mess." Linda, only in a delicate silk slip, stood defiantly in front of Lucia. "Take responsibility for it," she demanded.

"It's tradition," Lucia repeated firmly. "If I could have it my way, I would put the bullet in Luca's head."

"Then do it!"

Remaining even-tempered despite the beat of her heart growing faster and faster with every bat of Linda's eyes, Lucia shook her head. "It can't be me." Linda groaned. "It can't be me! I married into this family, just like you! We play by their rules, by their traditions. We need to know our place."

Linda cast her head back in a mocking laugh. " _You_?" she sneered. "Your place is behind your husband. You're the only one who can change his mind. Don't pretend like you're some helpless wife."

"My place is _beside_ my husband. And that means unhappy compromise. Arthur is the oldest. He has to end this vendetta. Linda," her voice was more sympathetic, "he'll be okay. Arthur is always okay."

"Arthur has suffered -"

"Since the war," Lucia finished with a hint of annoyance. "Yes, I know. I was the one who had the doctor give him barbiturates to help him sleep so he wouldn't hang himself in the middle of the night from nightmares. I have looked after Arthur for years! He is capable of so much more than you can imagine or appreciate." Her jaw set. "If you wanted a good man, you shouldn't have chosen from the worst of them. But you didn't want a good man, did you? You wanted a rich man."

Linda's lips parted to contradict the statement, hands dropping down to feel the expensive pink silk on her own body, but no words came out. While Lucia would have waited a moment longer for Linda to find her next words, the silence was sliced by the ring of the phone.

"Yes?" Lucia brought the receiver to her ear.

"Luc?" Ada's voice questioned from the other side. "Where's Arthur?"

Lucia swiveled on her heel to look out the office windows down to the factory floor where she had last seen him go. "He's not with you? He left a while ago." She spotted the guilt on Linda's face and the half-clothed office sex romp started to make sense.

"We've been waiting over an hour at the hospital. Tommy says -"

"Ada, wait!" The receiver pulled away from her and Lucia listened hard through the clanging of metal and plumes of fire. She had heard gunshots. "Ada, get a car here now." The receiver fell from her fingers and clanked against the side of the desk. "Linda," Lucia instructed as she rummaged through the desk drawers for a gun, "barricade yourself in here. Stay on the phone with Ada. Someone's on their way."

With that, Lucia loaded bullets into the magazine and ran down to the factory floor, listening into the clamors of the machinery for another gunshot. The pistol was concealed in the folds of her skirts when she heard it again. Several rang out from down in the loading docks.

Kicking off her shoes, Lucia tip-toed down the stairs into the dim hall, past reverberatory furnaces and work benches arranged with crucibles. The ground was soaked with paint and she cringed at the feeling of it seeping through her stockings between her toes. With only the light of the furnaces to guide her, Lucia caught a gasp at the top of her throat when she nearly tripped on a man laying lifeless face down in the dirt. She nudged him with her foot to get a better look at his face. There were several gunshot wounds across his chest.

Lucia leaned down and squinted past the darkness. He was an Italian but not one with Sicilian features. She braced herself and prayed to whatever god was listening that Luca hadn't enlisted the help of the 'Ndrangheta, the most feared syndicate operating out of Calabria, Italy. They were rich and ruthless and clever, and a fearsome enemy to face. The fact that the man had died was reason enough to believe he wasn't a 'Ndrangheta. Men of the 'Ndrangheta weren't so reckless and easy to kill. Breathing a sigh of relief, Lucia crept along the brick walls, a finger poised near the trigger, peaking into the shadows where the lights of the furnace didn't reach.

Through the darkness she could make out two men fighting with fists on the ground. The one pressed to the floor was Arthur - she caught the glint of his cross through the thin light. The spot where she crouched wasn't close enough to get a clear aim at the man so Lucia, praying again that she wouldn't miss, quietly slipped closer down the incline, pausing at the slightest noise she made, and extended her arms out in front of her, taking aim. Arthur was putting up a hell of a fight but that hadn't stopped the assassin from groping at the pistol an arm's length away.

For a moment, she considered sprinting forward and kicking the gun away and killing the man point blank, but her paint-soaked, dust-covered feet were firmly anchored to the ground. She wasn't that brave.

Lucia's heart was beating right at her ears, drowning every other sound out until all she could focus on was the task at hand. Her fingers weren't shaking. Her arms weren't weakening. Lucia lips formed an _o_ and a sharp whistle pealed out. Aberama had taught her that. The assassin's head jerked up in surprise and that's when she pulled the trigger.

Though Lucia had intended the bullet to hit the man's forehead, it went straight through his nose and he fell dead on top of Arthur. She ignored the horrible squelching sound of bones breaking and the bullet lodging into soft tissue but she wouldn't forget it. Those sounds and images were starting to form a macabre collection in her brain, and Lucia realized she'd have to face it all sooner or later. She ran to help Arthur to his feet, pushing the body off of him and making certain the man was dead.

"You alright?" she asked while throwing his arm around her shoulder so she could support him back up to the factory floor.

"Those bastards didn't kill me." His voice was heavy and labored from the struggle.

The paint that had covered his face and shirt was starting to soak onto Lucia too. What a sight she'd be when Tommy arrived. "It's a shame there wasn't a pool going because we could have split the winnings like old times. Or you could have died and I could have kept it all for myself," she laughed.

"Ah, shut up, Luc." Arthur's arm curled around her neck so he could lean in to kiss her temple.

Polly and Tommy had just pulled up in two separate vehicles and were waiting with Linda outside, her coat tightly wrapped around herself, when Lucia and Arthur hobbled out looking a terrible sight covered in red from head to toe. While Polly and Linda guided Arthur into the front seat, Tommy ignored them both to race to his wife. He saw the blood all over her feet, nearly lifting her up from the ground before she could assure him it was just paint.

"We'll need someone to clean up the two bodies at the loading dock," Lucia cocked her head back toward the factory.

Polly started the engine in her car and, before she, Linda, and Arthur took off toward Small Heath, threw over her shoulder, "I'll send out some of our boys" and left Tommy and Lucia standing along the road.

Lucia began back into the cool factory to hunt down her shoes with Tommy trailing behind. "Two things," she said as she doubled over to snatch her heels from the ground.

"I'm listening." To prove this, Tommy chose a cigarette from the tin and brought a light to it, he pulled the smoke into his mouth and was ready to hear what she had to say.

"The men killed, they're not Sicilian. Magaddino is Sicilian."

Tommy furrowed his brows in confusion. "So? It could be Sabini's men. What does it matter who is working for Luca?"

"It matters, Tommy. Luca isn't using proper Sicilian men for this vendetta which means they're either mercenaries or the 'Ndrangheta. And if the 'Ndrangheta has a hand in this, we might as well give up because nobody goes up against them and survives. The 'Ndrangheta they're...they're less hierarchical, more casual than the Cosa Nosta. Their leaders are young and they have no interest in politics and in becoming a _pezzonovante_. They have no interest in being big shots like MPs, lawyers, and secretaries of state. They are much more blood, Tommy. The men in their clan are from the same family lineage, bound by blood. Their greatest strength is their solidarity and their ruthlessness."

"Other than that, what makes them different?" He lit another cigarette.

"They follow their own codes of honor and warfare. Luca might have agreed to no civilians and no children, but…"

Tommy didn't need her to finish. "Let's hope Luca's men are mercenaries. Might be easier that way."

"I hope you're right. If they are mercenaries we can buy them out. But if they're 'Ndrangheta, even our connection with Capone and Solomons won't help us."

"And have you heard from Capone?"

She shook her head no. "Have you heard from Solomons?"

"I have," he said but offered no more information. Lucia knew he'd tell her everything when the right moment came along.

There was a month of quiet from Luca after the failed attempt on Arthur's life. Whether he was regrouping or lulling the Shelby's into a false sense of security, Lucia didn't feel confident in assuming one or the other. Luca had targeted his first attacks at the Shelby _capo bastones_ , the underbosses, John and Arthur. He would either come back for Arthur or pick off the weakest of the bunch, Ada or Michael. Tommy made sure there were always men with Michael at the hospital and that Ada was with Karl. Though he hadn't completely ruled out the role of the 'Ndrangheta in the vendetta, it was easier on his nerves to believe Luca Changretta was a man of honor and would stick to their agreement.

It was dawn when Tommy Shelby met Alfie Solomons on the streets outside the house on Watery Lane. Alfie held a loaf of bread in the crook of an arm and his walking stick in his other hand.

"Good morning, Alfie."

Gruff as he was, Alfie looked toward the front door expectantly. "Where's your wife?"

"She's getting ready."

"Mmph," was the response and he began towards the house, bread still tucked under his arm. "I'll wait."

Twenty uncomfortable minutes passed between Alfie and Tommy as they sat in the parlor waiting for Lucia. There were no polite remarks on the house or the furnishings. Alfie sat the bread beside him after making sure there were no dents in the golden-brown crust from travel. He checked his pocket watch and _mmph_ -ed again in impatience.

Soon after Lucia came down the stairs. "Hello Alfie."

"'Hello Alfie'? ' _Hello Alfie_ '?!" His face quickly started to redden under the scruffy beard. "After all these years all you can say to me is fuckin' 'Hello Alfie'?"

Lucia stopped at the bottom step and tried again with another greeting. "I've...missed you, Alfie?"

This made Alfie even more worked up. He looked at Tommy. "This one," he jabbed a finger towards Lucia, "comes to me years ago, cryin', yeah, saying 'oh Alfie, Tommy Shelby doesn't love me anymore. I have to go to America. Lend me some money', she says. And I, being the kind and benevolent man I am for poor souls such as herself, I say, 'alright, mate, give me half now and you can pay the rest back once you reach your brother in New York.' Except," Alfie's voice rose almost comically. "Except this pretty little wop doesn't go to America, does she. She goes to fuckin' Sicily!" He turned back to Lucia who was flush with embarrassment. His imitation of her wasn't entirely untrue. "You owe me money!"

Rifling through her purse, she slapped thirty quid into Alfie's palm, "Here." She put another note in his hand, "As interest." And another, "For your troubles." She straightened. "And, just to show I'm a woman of my word," Lucia pinched his jaw between her fingers and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Now we're even. Mazal tov, Alfie."

"Oh, very good," he was talking about the kiss and turned to Tommy. "See, she asked me if we could have a shag before she left -"

"That is simply not true." Lucia rapidly interjected.

"Mmph." Alfie pursed his lips with displeasure, less on the account of being interrupted and more on account of being contradicted, then continued, " _I_ ," he made a sweeping gesture to himself. "I said no. 'You're just not kosher, love,' I said. But she insisted, mate. So I made the responsible decision and I said, 'next time you see me, Luce, I'll let you give me a kiss. One kiss. Nothing more.' That's what I said."

Lucia looked over to Tommy, who had patiently listened to the whole story, and was relieved to find him wholly unaffected by the ridiculousness of it all. "If my memory serves correct -"

"It doesn't," Alfie subverted.

Rolling her eyes Lucia continued, "If memory serves correct, that entire conversation happened but the roles were reversed."

"Nah," Alfie shook his head, rejecting her words and making another long-suffering mmph-ing sound again.

Deciding to play along, Lucia shrugged and, with theatrical sadness, said with a strain in her voice, "Ahh. Curse the gods that made me a gentile." It was a heartbreak Lucia quickly recovered from, beaming from ear to ear once her act was dropped. She looked between the two men situated on different couches, each a safe distance from the other. "Tea?"

Alfie accepted and, just as Tommy declined, Charlie came rattling down the stairs like a wild animal. Before he could jump from the fourth steps up and crash to the ground - Charlie always liked how angry Lucia would get when he did it - Lucia caught the child in her arms and swung around, cradling him against herself and peppering kisses along his soft cheeks.

"Let's go make tea," she cooed on the way to the kitchen.

"That's your boy?" Alfie raised his cane and gestured to the kitchen.

Tommy nodded.

"Fine bride you got there then. There are some in my community that don't permit step-mothers to touch the sons of their husband."

"She is a fine bride," Tommy agreed. He could hear his son's peals of laughter coming from the kitchen. If Tommy Shelby were any other man, he would boast endlessly about how generous and sharp and well-connected his wife was, her strength of mind, her endurance through suffering. He took especial pride in how this bitter world hadn't taken away any of her sweetness. If Tommy Shelby were any other man, he would have shouted it from the rooftops so all of Birmingham could hear. He wished Mary Shelby was still alive, they would have talked about Lucia for hours.

Tommy was only broken out of his thoughts when he saw Charlie amble into the parlor, a saucer and teacup clattering in between his small hands. Lucia followed close behind ready to catch the tea or the child if an accident happened. Charlie, already frightened of Alfie Solomons, slowly approached, the teacup tinkering even faster as he did so.

Graciously taking the saucer, unburdening little Charlie, Alfie grunted his thanks. Charlie, having never seen someone so interesting looking in all his young life, was engrossed with the large bushy bread hanging from Alfie's scarred face and the strangeness in his eyes. The poor little boy couldn't stop staring. Unsure of what to do, Alfie grunted again with a lunge, this time a little louder and a little fiercer, sending Charlie sprinting for the safety of Lucia's skirts with a yelp.

"You stupid man!" Lucia snatched the cap clean off Charlie's head and violently smacked Alfie's shoulders with it. "Have you never met a child before?"

Despite the blows, Alfie sipped at his tea leisurely.

Plopping the cap back on Charlie, Lucia ushered him towards the stairs. "Go fetch your coat so we can go to Auntie Linda's."

Charlie's shoulders slumped at the idea of going next door. Billy was still a baby and he was boring. "Can we go to the woods, please? You promised!"

"Later." She shooed him up the stairs. "Off you pop, _piccolo capra_." _Little goat._

"You're not coming with us?" Alfie asked, and Tommy noted that it was asked too quickly. Alfie Solomons was never one to be quick about anything. He took his time. The world always moved at the pace Alfie Solomons decided.

Lucia smoothed down the front of her apron. "No, I've lost close to fifty quid doing business with you, Alf. I'll leave the rest to Tommy."

This time Alfie didn't _mmph_ but quietly rose from his seat and held out the loaf of Challah to her. "A wedding gift with my blessing. It's not what you wops are used to but..."

Lucia accepted the immaculately braided loaf, but her eyes lingered on Alfie longer. There was something strange behind his guarded stoicism. It was almost a hint of sadness that weighed heavy on his hunched shoulders. He looked like he was going to envelope over himself and crumple. Before Lucia could ask if he was okay, Tommy put a hand on her elbow to break her gaze from Alfie.

"Don't leave Small Heath until I come back," he instructed.

* * *

Much to their relief, Lucia and Charlie returned from Arthur and Linda's house earlier than anticipated. Baby Billy was boring to Charlie and Linda was still cold with Lucia, and poor Ada and Karl resigned to be stuck in between.

Ada had caught Lucia's attention and whispered, "Just get out of here with Charlie. I'll handle Linda. I'll give you a ring if I need you."

Gratefully accepting, Lucia said polite goodbyes and flew off next door with her husband's son bundled in her arms. Dinner from the night before was reheated and used again for lunch.

"When can we go to the forest?" Charlie asked over his plate.

Lucia tousled his mop of hair on her way to the stove. "When your dad gets back."

"When does he get back?"

"I don't know, my little goat."

"Does my dad love me?"

"He does."

"Do you love me?"

"Very much." She brought another forkful of her spaghetti with Sicilian pesto to her mouth, hoping it would stop Charlie from continuing into a barrage of questions.

Charlie, sitting deep in thought across the table, studied his own food. "I know it's not my birthday and I've been a good boy, and..."

Holding back her smile, Lucia was ready for anything. "What do you want, Charlie?"

"A cassata for desert! Just a small one. I'll be good all week, I promise! I'll finish all my food and I'll even go to Auntie Linda's without complaining and I'll play with Billy even though he's boring."

"We can get one cannoli on our way back home. Yeah?"

He considered it carefully. "Two cannolis?"

She relented. "Fine."

"Then it's a deal," he reached across the take and held out his hand.

Lucia shook it with a proud grin. "You're starting to become a businessman like your dad."

"Do you think I can be as scary as him?"

"Your dad isn't scary all the time."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Not to you. He's just mean sometimes. I like you better."

"Well," she considered his words and was pleased to know she was the favorite. "He might be mean sometimes but he loves you the most. More than me."

Charlie stood up on his chair and put his elbows on the tabletop once Lucia cleared his plate. He sighed heavily. "Maybe you're right." He took another few moments to be pensive before hurdling up the stairs to play with his toy men.

But the relief of silence didn't last long. There was a loud commotion outside on the street and Lucia hurried to swing the front door open. A gaggle of children stood staring up at the giant who came along with Alfie Solomons. He wasn't the lumbering type but heads taller than Alfie and Tommy alike. The car tilted to one side when the large man sat in the back seat. From the door, Lucia watched Alfie settle into the vehicle and soon Tommy walked back to stand by her side.

"There's going to be a fight?" she asked. Tommy nodded. "Between Bonnie Gold and that thing?" He nodded again, hands finding the warmth of his coat pockets. "Ugh, what does he want now?" she groaned and stepped off the sidewalk over the cobbled streets to Alfie's window.

Alfie gestured to her with a waggle of his finger. When she leaned in closer, he said, "Just wanted to say, you look a lot like that brother of yours."

Lucia's body stiffened. Before she could question him, the car lurched forward and sent her stumbling back several steps to save her feet from being crushed under the tyres.

"What did he want?" Tommy asked when she had returned to the door.

She took a deep breath and waved off her husband's concern with a small laugh. "He asked if I'd give him another shot at a shag if you died first."

He followed her into the house, through the front room, and into the parlor where her coat was draped over a couch. "I don't think you should go out."

"Charlie!" Lucia craned her neck towards the stairs before focusing back on her husband. "What do you mean? It'll be fine. Our son has been hounding me to teach him how to talk to trees since Aberama put the idea in his head. Next he'll be asking you how to talk to horses!"

A smile pulled at the hairpin corners of Tommy's lips. He drifted forward and took her hand. "You said _our_ son."

Lucia looked confused. "Did I?" She hadn't noticed.

The rumbling of Charlie's footsteps through the upstairs hall and down the stairs had Tommy and Lucia's head snap up as if they were being ambushed.

"How! How does one little boy make so much noise?" Lucia exclaimed, holding out Charlie's coat so he could slip his arms in. "He gets it from you." she snapped at Tommy. "Like father, like son. Or it's a learned behavior from Arthur - the big brute!"

"Take this with you at least." He followed his wife and son to the door, carefully slipping a gun into her coat pocket so Charlie wouldn't see. "I'll come with you?"

"Don't be silly, Thomas," she looped a finger through his shoulder holster and pulled him in for a kiss. "You don't know how to talk to trees."

He wasn't amused by the joke. "Luc."

"It will be fine," she pressed another kiss to his jaw, sneaking a hand into his pockets to reach the car keys. In a softer voice she added, "I have the benefit of knowing when I'll die. There's a long way to go yet. You stay here and manage your empire. I'm going to take _our_ son for a ride out to the country."

Charlie was all giggles and questions on the drive out of Birmingham. Once the paved road had ended, the dirt path jostled the two occupants of the vehicle up and down further toward the trees until they were surrounded on all sides with just the road cutting through the green ahead of them.

"Do you think the trees will be angry about all the squirrel droppings?"

Lucia laughed and inhaled the fresh country air that rushed through the open windows. "Maybe! I wouldn't want to be covered in droppings. Would you?"

"Nooo," Charlie giggled. He got on his knees to stick his head out the window. The cool breeze blew past his face and through his hair. If Lucia hadn't hooked a finger through the belt loops on his trousers, the little boy surely would have tumbled out of the car and rolled along the soft tufts of grass under the trees. If Charlie was anything like his father, he would have quite enjoyed the fall.

"Careful now, love."

"Okay, mam."

It took all of Lucia's strength not to bring the vehicle to a screeching halt on the middle of the road. Easing her foot of the gas slightly, they continued forward. It could have been an accident, a slip of the tongue, Lucia inferenced. A slip of the tongue in the same way she had said _our son_ to Tommy earlier. She married Tommy and that made Charlie her son too, but she certainly wasn't his mother in the way Grace was. Lucia began to panic. Would Tommy be upset? Would he think Charlie calling her mum was an orchestrated ploy by Lucia to erase any and all memories Grace? Her fingers danced anxiously on the steering wheel until they crossed a wooden bridge and parked in a grassy dell by the river.

Taking her husband's son by the hand, Lucia and Charlie walked into the trees, deep into the foliage past wildflowers and berries until the river running beside them narrowed into a stream. She squatted down next to Charlie and looked out over the grove of trees swaying and singing with the wind.

"Okay, Charlie, if you want to learn how to talk to trees you have to find the one you like first. Look at the way they stand, their branches and leaves. Look at the flowers growing under them and the bugs and animals living on them. Feel the bark - that's where their souls live."

Lucia watched Charlie walk from tree to tree with the same respectful love he showed the horses. There was so much of Tommy in the curve of his nose and the gentleness in his fingers. Her hand floated to the round of her stomach. It was that way from all her years of eating pasta and rich wines and cheeses. Unlike Lizzie's willowy figure or Grace's lithe frame, Lucia was wide-hipped and strong-legged. Even Noni had remarked positively on her child-bearing hips and Lucia, dropping her hand to where her womb would sit, considered an olive-skinned, blue-eyed child that would be a little bit her and a little bit Tommy Shelby. Charlie began toward her, pointing toward a tree, and Lucia shook away the thoughts.

"Did you find one?" she asked, allowed him to pull her to a towering English hornbeam. Its short knotted truck fanned out into several branches, clothed by pale gray bark, extending up into the vaults of heaven. Lucia ran her fingertips over the ridges along the bark. It was an old soul. "This is a good one, Charlie." She lowered down to her haunches and held him close. "Okay, Charlie, this is an old tree and he might need you to repeat yourself. You have to be patient and polite. Yeah?" Charlie nodded enthusiastically. "First, you have to ask if you can sit with him. This is his space and his roots go deep under the soil. You need his permission first."

Charlie took a gentle step closer to the hornbeam, careful not to disturb his roots. "Would it be okay if I sat with you, sir?" He listened carefully into the chirps of birds and the rustle of leaves. A robust gust of wind rattled the branches of the hornbeam sending its elegantly pleated leaves floating down to the ground.

"I think that's a yes." Lucia smiled.

She guided Charlie down so his back was flush with the trunk and his head leaned back to admire the sun twinkling through its dancing boughs. As Lucia taught her husband's son to understand the voice of the trees and respect their song, she wished Tommy could be there to watch Charlie patiently listen into the tittering of squirrels and past the voices of other trees. He would be so proud. She certainly was.

It was only when the chill of late afternoon sent goosebumps down their arms did Lucia and Charlie, hand in hand, walk back down the dell where the stream widened into the river. After two hours of listening, Charlie refused to say what the tree told him or if it said anything at all. Elusive as he was, Lucia didn't press. What's said between hearer and tree in confidence couldn't be broken.

"Why so glum, love?" Lucia asked as they approached the car. "Didn't you have a good time?"

"I did, but…" Charlie wiggled his nose and thought over his words again. "Can we come back again?"

"Certainly. We can bring your dad next time too." Lucia fished through her pockets for the keys with gloved hands. The keys landed on the padded leaves by her feet. As Lucia reached down to pluck it up again, she noticed deep slashes in the tyres. Her back straightened immediately and she reached for the gun Tommy had slipped into her coat pocket. Someone was close. "Charlie," Lucia softly said so as not to scare him and slowly pulled the slide back until she heard a click, "stay behind me and be very quiet."

Lucia knew they - whoever _they_ were - had eyes on her since she and Charlie had left the grove and into the dell. Putting one steady foot in front of the other, she began to round the engine of the car. The heavy pounding of her heartbeat filled her ear and suddenly the chirp of the birds, the babble of the river, and the songs of the trees were muted and dull.

Her eyes flicked toward the bridge over the river. There were no fresh tyre tracks. There were no brushes out of place by the riverside either. There was nothing and yet there was someone somewhere.

An arm lunged out from behind the vehicle, knocking the gun out of her hands and groping for her wrists. With a stifled scream, Lucia kicked and struggled to rip herself away from the body that belonged to the tight grip. Charlie held onto her skirts, confused and equally terrified by the sight unfolding before him.

"Run across the bridge, Charlie!" she screamed. The man tried to close the distance between their bodies and Lucia desperately pulled further away. Just when she thought she could elude the man's grip, her shoes slipped in the wet leaves and she collapsed to her knees - making her vulnerable and easy to be overpowered. She struggled to her feet, quickly raking the ground with her eyes to find the gun. Her heartbeat grew louder. It was her only chance. Charlie was running toward the bridge with his short legs, slowing down as he looked back to see if she was close behind. Terror clenched him once again when he found himself all alone.

"Mama!" He began back again with arms outstretched and tears pouring down his face, terribly frightened and wanting only to be in the safety of her arms.

Lucia whipped around to face the man, armed with the sharp end of her keys at ready between her fingers to fend him off again, but he braced himself against the car, grunting and heaving like a wild boar poised to charge forward. He didn't move and neither did Lucia.

"Run, Charlie." Lucia's voice cracked. A sob had caught at her throat. The man didn't move. It was like he was waiting for orders to strike. Charlie collided with the back of her legs, grabbing at her skirts and her blouse, begging her to pick him up.

Seconds passed but it felt like an eternity with her eyes locked with the man. Lucia knew whose order he was waiting for. The chill at the base of her spine was enough to settle it. She waited a split second, dropped the keys, yanked Charlie up in her arms, and sprinted toward the bridge. The back of her shoes - not made for running away from the _Cosa Nostra_ \- began slipping from her heels and Lucia couldn't help but let out the sob she held in, clinging to her son just as tightly as he clung to her. Any hope she had to live was fading. Her footsteps landed heavy on the wooden boards making up the bridge.

"Lucia!"

She plowed forward.

"Lucia, stop!" Luca called out.

Lucia stumbled toward the end of the bridge, nearly landing knee first in the mud when her shoe came off of her feet entirely. There was nowhere to go where they wouldn't find her - no secret world between the trunks of hornbeams or convenient coincidences to save her. She felt Charlie's tears soak into the front of her shirt and she slowly turned to face her brother. He pursued her with long strides, quickly closing the space between them. He lifted his gun.

"No!" Lucia screamed, holding Charlie even tighter and feeling him cling to her in fear. "We do not do this with the children! You promised!"

"I'm not going to hurt the child." Luca stopped in front of her and tried to pry Charlie from her arms. His voice was calm. "I'm going to hurt _you_. Wipe your face."

She struggled to keep Charlie in her grip. Luca was stronger and she was weakened from the first fight. Charlie whimpered behind her, holding onto her legs for dear life. Lucia felt his warm cheek pressed against her calf.

"Wipe the tears off your fuckin' face," Luca spit out with venom.

"No." She locked her jaw and pulled her shoulders back defiantly.

He raised his gun again. The cold metal stung her forehead. "Wipe your fuckin' face."

"I won't. You can't do this with the children!"

"I don't care!" He roared, pushing the muzzle of the gun roughly into her forehead and sending her head back. "I don't care. You're behind it all. You broke _omertà_."

"I'm a woman," she snarled back but without as much force as she had felt building inside herself. " _Omertà_ doesn't apply to me."

Luca's nostrils flared in anger. If he wanted her dead, she would be dead already. He was hesitating and Lucia could tell. She raised her chin. She was daring him to pull the trigger. The tears were drying to her skin. She was ready to die.

A muffled bang sounded in the distance and was quickly followed by a bullet whizzing past her ear. It ripped through Luca's sleeve and sliced through his skin. The gun toppled over the side of the bridge in his surprise and he clamped a hand over the wound, retreating back to where his man waited while keeping his eyes glued to the tree line where the shot came from.

The space between the two Changretta's widened as a hail fire of bullets rained down toward Luca. Lucia had dropped down to the dirty bridge, her body carefully laid over Charlie to protect him from bullets and splinters of wood. A car engine started down the road, past the Bentley, and she looked up just in time to see her brother and his man climb inside and peel down the country roads. The back window of the car was shattered with a bullet and the car traveled even faster out of sight.

The firing ceased, leaving only an echo rising through the trees and into the sky, and Lucia cautiously lifted her head. She sat up with her back to the water and searched the same tree line her brother had. Several figures emerged from the shadows and began toward the bridge.

"Mam." Charlie fell into her chest, his little arms wrapped around her neck, and whispered in her ear, "The tree said this would happen."

"What?" Lucia breathlessly asked, too distracted by the men who approached her to hear what he had said. "Aberama?"

He shouldered his rifle and held his hand down to her with a smile. "Seems I'm still your guardian angel, little cow," he said in Shelta.

Lucia wiped the fresh tears that threatened to escape her stinging eyes and took his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview for Chapter 14 | The Daughter of Zipporah
> 
> "I want to die," Lucia said into the darkness.  
> It didn't answer back, but Tommy Shelby did.


	14. Daughter of Zipporah

The sun had quickly faded under the trees and a darkness fell over Aberama's camp. There had been a small bonfire with drink and song passed around with ease. To Lucia, draped in Aberama's large coat while Charlie was wrapped in hers, it felt like she'd stumbled into a dream where the green was greener and the air was lighter, where her soul was understood and her troubles withered away in the safety of brightly painted caravans and a warm fire.

When Lucia was sixteen, Tommy would watch her dance and bound around the same flames on younger legs and look at him with a wider smile. Tommy wasn't there now, but the chorus of _Oró Sé do Bheatha 'Bhaile_ rose through canopies of trees to welcome his new bride to the family, as was tradition.

Lucia was older now, and she stared into the fire filled with the same drink and songs warming her heart. She wanted to jump to her feet, feel the cool dirt between her toes, and spin around the fire to the beautiful music. Tommy wouldn't be there to watch her, but his son would be in her arms and that could have been enough for her.

Instead Lucia held Charlie in the warm folds of her coat as he slept. The fire had reduced to embers and the time to dance had long passed. Aberama watched her through the ruddy light of cinders and could see the moon glitter in the corners of her brown eyes.

"Nineteen years since I've seen you," he said. "What a woman you've become."

Lucia looked down at Charlie's soft face and scoffed. "Some woman. Some overconfident and prideful woman I've become." Her eyes drifted out to the shadows between tree branches. "Because of me, this sweet child might have been wandering through these woods, cold and alone and afraid."

"It's a good thing your husband sent us word to watch you then." Aberama prodded at the embers with a stick. He smiled. "Congratulations are in order for nabbing him. It took longer than Birdie and Mary had expected. I had hoped they'd be alive to see it."

"Might have been easier and quicker if they had been alive. Tommy's stubborn," she laughed.

"It might have been too easy. You and Tommy aren't meant to have an easy life."

_There's much more suffering left to face_ , Polly had predicted. As a young girl, their forbidden love had been exciting. Through the years Lucia had fought for that love, been reinforced by it. She looked at Tommy Shelby and saw a man she believed in, could be proud of, and loved fiercely. But it seemed all the struggling and heartbreak leading up to Tommy marrying her had been the preamble to a much greater suffering, and Lucia wished for a break. She didn't want to hear _you and Tommy aren't meant to have an easy life_ or _there's much more suffering left to face_. Lucia wanted to drown in the sleepy ocean in Tommy's eyes and be happy.

"Luce?"

She gently reemerged from her thoughts and met Aberama's concerned gaze. "Charlie could hear the trees talking. He's got his father's intuition. I hope my own child has the same."

Aberama snorted, shifting on the log he sat across from her. "I commend you for stepping into the role for his child, but motherhood...you're not made for it."

Perplexed and rather offended, Lucia asked, "Why not?"

"To you, children are a weakness and motherhood is a burden."

The care in his face was enough for Lucia to logically know he wasn't being cruel, but she felt slighted anyways. Her feminine biology was bloody furious. "I'm perfectly happy with the prospects of motherhood! I'm built well and sturdy!"

"Describing yourself or one of your husband's horses, now, are you?" That earned Aberama a glare. He decided to continue in a softer tone; the same he'd use to speak to his own daughters. "You're built for greater things than motherhood. Who'll advise your husband if you're chasing after wains? Your cleverness would be wasted."

"Puh!" Lucia dismissed with a careless wave of her hand. "How could I marry Tommy Shelby and _not_ have his children? He — He's so—" Her eyes danced through the night, eyebrows furrowed in search of the perfect word to describe a man like Tommy. It eluded her entirely.

_Still the lovesick fool_ , Aberama thought to himself. He watched her stubbornly chase after the words with so much concentration that she hadn't noticed her husband's car pull up the hill. Tommy stalked down to the circle of caravans with the dimming fire built at the center.

Stopping beside Lucia he coldly said, "Give me my son." Lucia's coat fell carelessly to the dirt when he took Charlie and disappeared into an empty caravan Aberama motioned towards.

Aberama turned to Lucia. Her cheeks hollowed, fighting back tears, fingers suddenly shaking on her knees from the cool breeze. Aberama pointed after Tommy. "And that'll be the father of your children?" he questioned skeptically.

That had done it. Lips quivering, Lucia, barefoot, got to her feet and disappeared through the rustling brush to the river, her coat lying forgotten on the ground. Aberama exhaled deeply and would have followed after to comfort her if Tommy hadn't stepped down from the caravan.

"Where did she run off to?" he asked, unconcerned, and lit a cigarette.

"Down by the river. Be gentle with her." Aberama Gold squared his shoulders to Tommy Shelby. "She fought for your boy's life. She was ready to have a bullet in her temple. Be gentle with her," he repeated.

Tommy pulled the cigarette between two fingers and wet his lips, eyes furrowed fierce with study. "I suggest you worry about training your son for the match rather than my wife, Mr. Gold."

Further down the incline beside the gently rushing water, Lucia didn't listen into the silence to hear Tommy's conversation with Aberama. She fixed her senses onto the brush of the trees and the rush of the river. Her feet were numb and sinking into the cold ankle-deep mud. As chilled as she was, she hoped neither Tommy nor Aberama would come down to her. She was listening into the water for answers, reason, and reinforcement.

Eyes closing on English forests, she opened her mind to the bright Sicilian hills. She imagined the smell of the orange blossoms, the warmth of the sand, and the twittering of the blue rock thrushes sitting on the carob tree. Instead of the cold mud she stood in, she imagined the warm grass underfoot. She wanted to go back home. Lucia concentrated hard on the pale sand and the blue ocean, but gnarled flashes of her brother's face invaded her peace until it all went black.

"I want to die," she whispered into the darkness.

It didn't answer back, but Tommy Shelby did.

"Aberama said you came quite close." He held out her coat which Lucia took with hesitation, watching his face carefully. "I tried to tell you not to go."

"If you knew that Luca would attack before I left, then you didn't try hard enough."

Tommy pulled at his cigarette with leisure and ignored the distress in his wife's voice. Between the fight, the vendetta, and the union issues, he hadn't taken kindly to driving hours out of Small Heath to fetch her and his son.

"Did you use us as bait? Is that why you sent word to Aberama?"

Tommy didn't answer.

"You bastard! Even for you," Lucia snarled, "that's evil."

"You were never in any real danger," he calmly deflected.

Her face twisted in disbelief. "Your son — _our_ son ran to me, terrified, calling me mama. I could have died and another mother for your boy would have been gone! You nearly ruined your son to win this vendetta."

"I did it _for_ my son!" Tommy threw the cigarette into the mud and advanced, a finger spearing toward her face.

Lucia's hand wrapped around his finger and threw it down. "There could have been an easier way! Did you want me to die? Would you prefer May instead? Or Lizzie?"

"No," he quickly denied. "I love you!" His shoulders heaved. "I love you," Tommy repeated again in a smaller voice. "I didn't think it would go the way it did. Aberama should have gotten there earlier."

"It was Alfie then," she deduced. "He's playing both sides as he always does and yet, like a fool, you continue to trust him - this time at the expense of your wife and your child."

"I did have a suspicion," Tommy admitted slowly. He'd done it again - he had seen her too much as an extension of himself and trusted she had the same disregard for her own life as he did. Raising his sharp jaw to look above her anger, Tommy's eyes swept across the shoreline on the opposite side of the river.

"Is this what it feels like?"

His attention dropped back down. "What?"

"What it feels like to loathe the very sight of you."

Tommy took a step back and dragged a hand over his face. He fished for his cigarette tin and pinched it between his dry lips. His fingers faltered and failed to light a match. Lucia had to do it for him. "Do you still love me?" he finally asked.

"That's the saddest part of it all. I do still love you. My love for you is what got us into this the whole bloody mess." She stilled. "Do you know the last thing your mother said to me before she died? She said, 'call me mother and promise me you'll take care of our family.' I can't do right by her and take care of our family if I'm dead, Tommy. Share your burdens with me equally and honestly. This vendetta won't end well if you keep blocking me out of every decision."

_There's much more suffering left to face._

Tommy nodded slowly, at first, but again to show he'd understood and was willing to accept it, however unwilling. "Wash the mud off your feet. I'll carry you back."

Aberama watched through the small window on his wagon as Tommy came through the brush with Lucia in his arms. Tommy put her down gently and followed her into the caravan where his son slept, and Aberama shook his head with pity. The lovesick fool was won over again. As he would for any of his three daughters. Aberama wanted to protect her. It was too late and just in time. As long as she doesn't have his children, he thought, she'll have a chance at happiness.

Just as Moses parted the Red Sea, Thomas parted the crowds. Just as Zipporah stood up to God and saved her husband's life, Lucia was destined to do the same. Aberama didn't know how or when, but Birdie had told him long ago and he could never forget.

* * *

It was nearly noon when Tommy, Lucia, and Charlie returned to Small Heath and entered the house on Watery Lane. Lizzie rose from behind her desk with a slip of paper, bypassed Tommy's waiting hand, and held it out to Lucia.

Lucia looked up from the message. "It's Capone. He's agreed to talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview For Chapter 15 | The Bitch With No Honour
> 
> "Bona sira," she spoke into the receiver with the sweetest lilt in her voice.
> 
> The line was quiet for several moments before a rough voice cut through. "Cut the shit. None of these power games."
> 
> Lucia's eyes met Tommy's. She straightened in her seat. There would be no games. "Alright," she answered back in English. These Chicago men were even more gruff, uncouth, and tactless than she had been told. Even more so than Alfie.


	15. The Bitch With No Honour

There was only a handful of minutes left until two in the morning when Lucia rolled out of her empty marriage bed and shuffled down to Tommy's office. A dim glow of light emanated through the frosted glass on his door and Lucia, rubbing the sleep from the corners of her eyes, pushed it in without knocking. They could all do away with courtesies so early in the morning.

Tommy, standing over his desk, looked up when the glass rattled and the door swung open. His wife entered the office in a plain cotton nightgown, a strap falling off one shoulder, drifting in like some somnolent goddess.

"You didn't come to bed," she observed on her way to the decanter to pour herself a drink. It would help her wake up faster.

"No," he shook his head, hands propped on either side of his hips. He swept his eyes over his desk to make sure everything was in place. The wires to the phone were connected and it sat on the middle of the tabletop. The chair was in place for Lucia to sit. He would position himself on a couch further down the room when the call took place. "Hello," Tommy greeted his wife with a quick swipe under her lip. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," she confidently answered, side-stepping past him to sit at the desk, and finished her drink. "These bloody Americans - making us call after _their_ supper. Six hours behind us!"

Tommy held a cigarette at the corner of his mouth to say, "Sacrifices need to be made."

"Easy for you to say," she scowled, "you never sleep. You don't need to put your son to sleep either." The phone rang at the top of the hour exactly. "At least they're punctual." Lucia counted out five seconds before bringing the receiver to her ear.

The negotiations were beginning.

" _Bona sira_." Lucia switched to Sicilian for the start of the conversation. It was a test to gauge Lombardo's proficiency. He had been in America for a very long time but remembering his roots was important. "Signore Lombardo?" she asked into the receiver with the sweetest lilt in her voice.

The line was quiet for several moments before a rough voice cut through. "Cut the shit. None of these power games."

Lucia's eyes met Tommy's. She straightened in her seat. There would be no games. "Alright," she answered back in English. These Chicago men were even more gruff, uncouth, and tactless than she had been told. Even more so than Alfie.

"My grandmother said she knows you. I phoned her in Scopello."

"Yes, she was very kind."

"She told me you looked after her and her goats when you came from Erice for a new start. Said you were like a granddaughter to her." Lombardo's voice was like gravel and the same venom from earlier was still undercutting each word. "For that, you have my gratitude." There was another pause. "Are you speaking for your husband?"

"I am not speaking on behalf of my husband just as you are not speaking on behalf of your Don. We are two _consiglieres_ speaking to each other."

Antonio Lombardo scoffed. "A woman can't be a _consigliere_. Strike one."

From his place on the couch, Tommy watched the color drain from Lucia's face. She bit the inside of her cheek. He saw her eyes shifting back and forth, calculating, looking for the right course of action to pursue. Lucia was smart; she chose silence. Tommy stood and made a gesture whether he should take the phone but she shook her head. She managed to find new words.

"In the year that Capone has been boss of the Chicago Outfit, I have been incredibly impressed with his ferocity. You have my respect. I — "

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with your respect?" Lombardo laughed, cruelly and without ceasing. "Strike two, Signora Shelby."

Lucia's fist clenched in her lap. It was all she could do from not shaking in anger. What a relief that she hadn't married him. Deciding to shift her approach one last time before surrendering the phone to Tommy's waiting hands, Lucia started mirroring the same forceful poison in her own voice.

"Alright, asshole, the business is bootlegging. Since the start of prohibition, Mr. Shelby has been transporting five hundred bottles of single malt scotch whiskey in the same crates as car parts. These exports are going to Boston, and the New York families, already too wealthy and self-important, are benefiting from it. We are offering you these products at a reduced rate to be delivered to ports in Baltimore, Norfolk, and Charleston. Baltimore, so crates can be shipped along the railroads for faster delivery. Norfolk and Charleston, so you can beat other families to the land. Plus, there's good business in those south-eastern ports. Sailors are bored and have spare cash. Speakeasies for gambling and," she spit the last word out, "prostitution."

Antonio Lombardo released a grunt at the end of the line followed by a length of silence. "Why do you come to us? What have we done to deserve Mr. Shelby's generosity?"

Tommy expectantly studied his wife's impassive face to gauge any idea of what was being said on the other end of the conversation.

"You're real full-bodied men. Not like those New York _pezzonovantes_. I am offering you an advantageous friendship with a man who has Winston Churchill in his pocket and fifty percent of the profits." The persistent silence on the other end assured Lucia that she had piqued Lombardo's interest. "We, of course, would make assurances that all deliveries will arrive on time with minimal damage. Any car parts you have no use of can be transported to Detroit and all profits you can keep." She leaned forward in the seat, bringing her voice closer to the brass candlestick speaker, almost daring them, "Is Mr. Capone amenable to this?"

There was a muffle as though a hand was clamped over the handheld receiver, and a new voice spoke from the line. "We've checked your background, Mrs. Shelby." Capone's voice was brusque and guttural, the Brooklyn accent still very prominent despite his years in Chicago. "You're on the wrong side of a vendetta. Magaddino is providing arms for your brother and that cocksucker fucker Sabini is protecting him. You married the man who murdered your family, and now you're making deals with us? You're a bitch with no honor."

Lucia didn't answer. There was nothing to gain by refuting a universal truth. "I may be a bitch with no honour, but I'm a bitch that can make you even richer. Give you more power and leverage to extend your business out of Chicago."

"What's to stop the New Yorkers from snuffing us out?"

"New York," she scoffed. "They see you as ruffians, mad dogs, black sheep. They're more likely to go down to Miami for the drug trade. Maryland, Virginia, South Carolina are the prime middle grounds. Control the Baltimore-Ohio railway, and you'll control lines to Cincinnati, St. Louis, Pittsburgh, Toledo, and whatever the fuck exists in West Virginia and Kentucky."

"And for all this generosity, all you want from us _is_?"

"All we want, Mr. Capone, is your friendship." After a beat she offhandedly added, "and occasional access to said ports under your protection. With your discretion, of course."

Capone grunted, still unimpressed. "Your husband. He's, what, Irish Catholic?"

She looked up at Tommy. "Yes, he is."

"My wife is Irish Catholic. My parents," he continued in the same casual pace, drawing out vowels in ways Lucia couldn't possibly replicate or comprehend how. "My parents figured for an Italian boy, an Irish wife was seen as a status symbol. Plus those micks fuck the best."

"Indeed they do," she answered flatly despite the smirk thrown towards her husband.

"Put him on. I made a decision."

Lucia finally held the receiver out to Tommy. It was her turn to pace across the room in worry, listening to one side of a conversation. With trembling hands, she refilled her glass with whiskey and stayed close to the bottle until the phone call ended. It was close to four in the morning, and the shadows of dawn started across the skies over Birmingham.

When Tommy hung the receiver back, Lucia incredulously asked, "He agreed?"

He nodded and quickly slipped his arms through his coat sleeves.

"We get fifty percent?" Her voice was breathless from all the whiskey. "I thought he'd try to negotiate down. I added so much other shit in just to throw him off the numbers."

"He agreed anyways. You did good." Tommy put a gun in his shoulder holster and took the glass from her hand to set on a side table. His expression was blank but Lucia felt _something_ coming. Taking her face, Tommy placed a kiss over her brows, her eyes, her nose and her jaw, and finally to her lips. He leaned back to drink her in. "I should have married you years ago." He brought their lips together again. "We're going out this afternoon. Buy a dress. An expensive dress." Tommy's eyes dropped down to her mouth, her jaw, the perfect curve of her throat.

"Why an expensive dress?"

"So I can tear it off of you."

Lucia's eyes widened and all she could do was nod in agreement. "You're not going to sleep?"

Tommy adjusted the shoulders of his coat and opened the door to his office. "Capone wants the first shipment sent out today."

"Do you want me to come help?"

"No, I'll wake Arthur. Go back to bed and find that dress in the morning."

"His accent was so peculiar, wasn't it?" Whether it was the whiskey or just morbid curiosity, Lucia suddenly hung her lips into a pout, eyes squinted, and brought her neck forward in a lazy droop, "' _Iham Ahl Cahpone_." Tommy's bark of laughter was all she needed to keep the exaggerated imitation going. "' _Iah_ like loose women _bhat_ I like my Irish _Cahtolic_ wife _bettah_.'" Lucia straightened and switched to her normal cadence with a successful grin.

"Is he suddenly a cowboy?"

Lucia recoiled in offense, blowing out a scoff that sent wisps of mostly alcohol into the space between them, and shrugged in agreement. "I'll keep working on it. He's not so bad."

"No, he's not." Tommy, hands buried in the pockets of his coat, didn't stop his lips from twisting into a broader smile to match hers. A moment of quiet passed as Lucia caught her breath and Tommy admired as she did so. "You did good."

"With the voice, you mean?" she asked.

Tommy shook his head and shrugged at the same time. "With everything. I should have married you years ago."

"You married me at the right time." Lucia stepped forward to pull the collar closer up to his neck and buttoned the coat closed over his chest. He wouldn't catch his death of cold - not if she had any control over it. "Come back soon. You need to sleep. If you're going to tear apart a pretty dress of my choosing, I expect rigorous lovemaking."

* * *

In the morning, nearing noon, Lucia stood in front of the mirror and pulled at the pleated gown draped across her body. Pretty brown beads were stitched along the sides of the gown and around the sleeves, and the French provincial green hue of the silk seemed to lighten her olive skin. After another look at herself, mostly to admire the gown, Lucia breathed out a contented sigh. She tied a gold embossed belt around her waist and smoothed the pleated skirts down over her stomach. The silk gracefully contoured to the curves of her breasts and her hips, narrowing down her legs to her ankles. Tommy would enjoy tearing anything off of her but especially this. It was made by a Spaniard, Mariano Fortuny, in Italy. She had been attracted to the rich green of the silk. It reminded her of the trees surrounding Birdie Boswell's caravans. It was like her; made in Italy but colored Mincéirí.

There was a knock at the door. Before Lucia could answer, Polly let herself in. "Tommy's waiting downstairs."

"He hasn't slept for a fuckin' minute."

"Dirty words for such a pretty girl. He won't be able to close his eyes once he sees you." A small smile threatened to brighten Polly's usually dour face as she walked toward the vanity. "He told me about the deal this morning. We're all proud of you." She tapped the tip of her finger on a tube lipstick and gently pinched Lucia's cheeks to tint the skin a rosier red. "You've _made your bones_ with us, as you Italians say." The smile was spreading now. "Welcome to the family, love."

Down in the kitchen, Tommy lounged back at the table, nursing a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other, all while fighting off the sleep that pulled at his eyelids. But when he saw Lucia the drink was abandoned, the cigarette was tamped out, and sleep seemed so far away. He had promised to rip the dress off of her but now, with her standing in front of him, Tommy Shelby didn't even want to touch her in fear she'd disappear entirely between his fingers.

Lucia ran her hand down the pleated gown and looked expectantly up. "How does it look?"

Tommy didn't answer. Couldn't. A warmth pulled at his chest that no cigarette or strong liquor could replicate. He looked at Lucia and nothing else existed. Suddenly he was the man who would shout her praises from the rooftops. And suddenly he was like the crows who couldn't leave a place without finding the one thing to bring back to her. All Tommy Shelby could do was nod enthusiastically until he found his words. "Beautiful."

"You look dead tired." Her fingers carded through the tussock of hair that fell over his forehead. "Did the shipment go out?" He nodded and sat back at the table for another moment of rest before he had to be up again. Lucia closed in, almost floating forward, guiding his arms around her waist and his head against the soft pillow of her stomach. "Good things are in motion, It'll get better now," she sighed, rubbing soothing circles at the nape of his neck. The tightly cut hair thrummed under the graze of her fingertips. "Maybe you should sleep."

Tommy shook his head no, burying his face deeper into her warmth and tightening his hold on her body. "Some bad things are in motion too." The words were muffled into the silk pleats. "I need your help with it, all of it. Please."

"You don't have to ask," she leaned down to kiss the top of his head, nudging his chin up. "What do you need me to do?" Jokingly, she added, "If you want me to kill for you, I'll need twenty-four hours notice."

Despite the exhaustion in Tommy's eyes, Lucia could tell that was indeed what he needed her to do and she didn't have twenty-four hours to make a decision. The cigarette tin fished from his coat pocket felt cold to the touch, but the warm smoke rolled around her tongue and Lucia braced herself for whatever he had in mind.

"I've put guns in the backseat of the car. We're going to drive into an ambush."

Lucia shuddered. There was a pause while she took another pull and motioned him to go on.

"We've got our men and the Lees on rooftops with your Molotov's. Alfie said your brother came in with eleven men. If you couldn't recognize the ones in the factory, then Luca ran out the men he trusts and is now working with mercenaries."

"Not the 'Ndrangheta?"

"No, Alfie would have said."

"Well," she scoffed and a puff of smoke settled in the small between them, "Alfie's an opportunistic bastard even if his bread is well-baked." The Challah had been eaten almost immediately. "Why don't we just buy them out? Sell 'em to Capone?"

"We'll wait for an opportune moment for that, eh? You might have to do some killing today." Tommy leaned away and slid a rough hand behind her calf to lift her foot up to his knee. She found his shoulder to keep balanced, bracing herself against the excitement sparking from his sudden touch as his fingers travelled up her leg. Tommy pushed aside the silk and caressed the soft skin under her thigh.

"This," Lucia, already panting in anticipation, started, "isn't the right place to tear my clothes off. As much as I would like you to have me on the table."

With his free hand, Tommy brought up a drop leg holster and began strapping it around her thigh.

"Oh," she flatly observed, disappointed. "If we get out of this ambush alive, I'll insist on the lovemaking I've been promised."

He pulled the last strap firmly in place, kissed the inside of her thigh for good measure, and agreed full heartedly, "you'll get it."

She could feel the warmth of his palm through the silk. A quick fuck on the table didn't seem like a bad idea for a moment. But Tommy caught the wicked glimmer in her eyes and, before Lucia could flop her mouth open to make the suggestion, he smoothed down her dress and made his way toward the back door. Any other day he would have cleared the table and thrown her on it but, today, his bones were soaked with exhaustion and she was looking too beautiful to touch.

Before following her husband into the chilly car, Lucia lifted the hem of the gown to avoid mud and horse manure and bought an apple from the fruit vendor at the corner of Watery Lane. Tommy gave her a look when she sat by his side.

"Killing makes me hungry," she explained.

"Firstly, you've killed two men in your life. That's not enough to make a generalization like that. Second, what about me?"

She laughed and gathered her skirts again, one hand outstretched, palm up. "Give me money, I'll get you one." With a theatrical scoff she stepped out on the street again. "If you're going to treat me like a maid, you better —"

"Fuck you like one," Tommy finished. It was on her list of things to have him do to her. "Yeah, yeah, I remember. Hurry up, it's almost time."

Lucia was all smiles when she came back and the car jolted forward. She carefully placed both apples in the glove compartment, making a silent request to the heavenly forces at work that the car wouldn't explode during the ambush and eviscerate the fruit. She was hungry. "I don't give you enough credit for listening to me." She stroked the back of his neck again, completely forgetting the precarious situation they were going into as he drove around corners and narrow alleyways. "I want to try being a nurse again."

"Absolutely not, Luce." His eyes scanned the rooftops to take account of where the Blinders were situated. "The war nearly killed me and you would have finished the job if you had your way."

"You didn't tell me that I had to compress your chest _slowly_. Am I at fault if Queen Alexandra's Imperial Nursing Service rejected my application?"

"You nearly broke my fuckin' ribs." Tommy spotted a car following close behind. He pressed forward, navigating back towards the overlap of Nechells and Small Heath where all the Blinders were waiting.

"I'd like to say that my rescue kisses were administered with excellent precision." Lucia had spotted the vehicle, too, through the side mirror and reached into the back seat expecting to pull out pistols, revolvers, and rifles. Instead there were two large Thompson submachine guns. "Holy shit."

"Leave those," Tommy instructed. "Load the handguns in the bag next to 'em."

If Tommy's voice hadn't been strained with tension, Lucia would have made a lewd joke about yet another role she'd like to play in his bed but found herself too busy loading magazines with bullets and putting them into his coat pocket. She kept one for herself.

Her fingertips outlined the shape of the gun strapped to her thigh. As long as Tommy kept driving, she wouldn't have to worry. As long as Tommy kept driving, he would be close and he could protect her. Pangs of fear and worry only set in when the car slowed to a halt in front of a large tenement building. Laundry lines with white sheets flapped overhead. It was her old apartment complex.

"Are you scared?" he asked, taking her hand as they walked toward the building, each with their own weapon hidden away on their person.

"No," she lied but quickly amended her answer to a truthful, "Yes."

As they went up the stairs, the second car squealed to a stop. Tommy's grip tightened around her fingers. At the top of the first landing he pulled her to his chest and placed an innocent kiss on her jaw - he used the movement to approximate Luca's distance from them. They were playing the role of honeymooning lovers, and Lucia couldn't help but tremble as Tommy led her up the next flight of stairs. And then the next. And the next.

"Stay inside, ma'am," he said to the women collecting their sheets and aprons from the line.

When Tommy heard the sound of feet on the stairs below them, his pace quickened. Lucia nearly tripped over the blocked heel of her shoes paired with the elegant beaded hem. Tommy continued, almost at a run. He pulled his wife along with one hand and brought out a knife with the other. At the corner of two long open air halls lined with apartment doors, coincidentally the same floor Lucia had once lived on, Tommy stopped and leaned over to slice the expensive silk grown from her knees down. He tossed the fabric over the side of the railing.

Appalled, Lucia cried out, "if I knew _that_ was what you meant by tearing me out of my clothes, I wouldn't have paid a small fortune for this damn dress!" Admittedly, it was easier to move without the pleated skirts. All she had to do was throw the shoes down to the pavement too. If she aimed correctly, it might go through the windshield of Luca's car. The opportunity to unburden herself came when Tommy yanked her into an empty unit.

Lucia immediately kicked off her shoes and peeled away her stockings.

Tommy wanted to chastise her. He wanted to say she'd catch her death of cold without shoes, but they didn't have the time and he was abundantly grateful that she was willing to throw herself in harm's way with him. Instead, he took her face between his hands, kissed her for what felt like the first time, and finally said, "They'll come after you. Lead them up, then you go down. Our boys up top will take care of the rest." He put his knife in her pocket, touched the holster on her thigh, and cocked the handgun before placing it in her cold fingers. The footsteps outside were getting louder and Tommy's words were coming out faster. He kissed her again and pressed the car keys into her palm. "When you get down, get the Thompson and run it to me on my signal."

"Okay." Lucia nodded vigorously, not wanting to let go of him when he moved toward the door.

Tommy threw one last look at her. "I love you."

"And I love you," she replied.

Her rapidly beating heart dropped to her stomach when he disappeared out the door and down the stoop. She counted down from ten in preparation to burst out onto the narrow halls where her brother's men could easily pick her off. Just as she bolted to the door, the deafening blast of bullets echoed from the direction Tommy went.

"Holy shit!" Lucia clapped her hands over her ears and stumbled back into the empty flat. She could even hear empty shells tinkering at his feet as they fell. Tommy would later tell her that it was a Lewis machine gun, made out of Birmingham, with a pan magazine fitting close to a hundred rounds, that could fire off 550 rounds per minute. Soon after, suppressive fire followed from Luca and the five men with him. She would be dead on sight if she stepped foot outside.

When the shrill whistle of bullet rounds had subsided, Lucia dropped her palms from her ears and made ready to throw herself out of the unit once more. She should have used the chaos of the Lewis machine gun to relocate because when she stepped foot out the door, she collided head on with one of her brother's men. It was for the best. If he hadn't run into Lucia his rifle wouldn't have fallen over the side of the balcony and it would have been significantly easier to take aim at Tommy Shelby.

" _Vafangool_!" the man bellowed when he looked down to see his rifle on the streets below. _Fuck you!_

Lucia regained her sense of direction and pulled the handgun from her coat pockets. "Ah, _vafangool_ you!" The man was Sicilian but, if she had taken that into account and hadn't put two bullet holes in his chest, he would have strangled her with his bare hands. Without having enough time to check if he was dead and say a prayer over his body, Lucia glanced through the rusted metal bars on the guardrail to see one man dead in the mud and, quite by accident, caught her brother's eyes. "Fuck!"

Luca didn't miss a beat. "I'm coming for you, little Luci!" His heavy footsteps rattled the metal beams welded securely along the stairwell.

Lucia's eyes swept over the building, hoping to catch sight of Tommy on a corner or firing off another machine gun from a higher floor. But Lucia didn't see him. She scrambled to her feet and ran toward the first set of stairs that would take her higher up. _Lead them up, then you go down._ The soles of her feet stung as it slapped down against the frozen concrete and the metal stairway. Frustrated by the heaviness of her coat, she shoved the car keys and Tommy's switchblade into her brassiere, held the handgun firmly in her hand, and shed the coat entirely. She regretted the decision almost immediately when a sharp gust of wind blew through the halls and easily passed through the thin, now tattered, silk wrapped over her body.

While Luca was prowling around laundry and over the body of his dead comrade in pursuit of his sister, a storm of gunfire echoed through the hall on the other side of the building where Tommy was bursting up stairs and through doors, hauling an MP-28 rifle with him. Bullets blew towards him, shattering glass and splitting the corners of bricks, sending shards of glass, dust, and bits of burning metal into the air around him. By chance Tommy looked across the stoop and spotted the green of Lucia's gown. She was bounding up the stairwell two steps at a time to put enough space between herself and her brother. She was going too high up. She'd be cornered. Tommy rattled gunfire through bedsheets to kill the Italians behind it.

"Luc! Go back down!" he tried to scream, waving his arms in an attempt to get her attention. Instead, Luca sent bullets raining towards him and Tommy ducked around the corner, searching the rooftops for any sight of Arthur and the Lees.

Lucia's breath was turning ragged. She realized she would have to turn around eventually and shoot down at her brother and receive shots back at her. At the last floor, she raced across the hall to the second set of stairs to rush back down again. It was more a game of cat and mouse, and soon, when Luca inevitably caught up, she'd be gobbled up and spit out. Hiding behind a curve in the brick wall, Lucia peeked back. She couldn't see Luca. There were too many shirts and sheets hanging in the way. She gripped the gun tightly between her shaking fingers.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ," she muttered under her breath, desperately looking around to see where she could escape to without being cornered and shot down upon. There was no sound of Luca's footsteps, but she dared not peek around to make sure. Her feet burned from the cold. Without thinking, she sprinted toward the stairwell just in time to miss Luca's bullets which turned the supportive bricks to dust.

"Killing you would be a mercy, Lucia!" he roared after her.

Breathless and filled with adrenaline, Lucia ran inside the building away from the open air. There were more places to hide inside - more places to take a breather. She stumbled down curved staircases. There were four more flights left to get down to the car. Lucia slapped a hand to her breast to feel for the keys. Despite her jostling and jumping, it was still there.

The halls were dimly lit. She could hear babies crying and mother's praying behind the doors she passed. The gunshots had stopped and every time Lucia's bare feet skid against the dirty floor the sound pounded against the walls, hollow and empty. A long staircase broke the line of apartments and Lucia cautiously peered behind her then down to the next floor. Proceeding forward, she pressed her back to the wall and raced down as quietly as she could. The moment her foot landed off the last stair a hand shot out from around the corner and clamped over her mouth.

"It's just me."

Lucia twisted her head far enough back to recognize Tommy. Her muscles relaxed momentarily - rather prematurely because shots rumbled from the floors above down on them. Tommy yanked his wife back and folded his body over hers. A ricocheted bullet nearly caught him through the neck but whizzed past their ears and lodged itself into the soft drywall. Tommy grabbed the gun from her hand and abandoned his empty rifle to the dust littered ground.

"I'll take care of the rest. Go to the car. Wait for my signal." He pushed her toward the end of the hall which would safely take her down to the back of the building and closest to where the car was parked.

Though gunshots continued to ring behind her, Lucia hurried down the remaining flights of stairs and faced the door that led out. With a steady hand, she slowly turned the handle and peeked out. Her hand snaked up her dress to unbutton the holster on her leg and bring the gun close to her body, at ready, in case she was charged at by the enemy. Slipping back out in the cold, she passed abandoned tables covered with tools and soot-covered canisters. An open space of twenty feet laid out between Lucia and the car. The two men who had remained by Luca's car had been reduced to one when he had called for backup. Considering shooting the man, Lucia hesitated a moment. That's when a shot from the rooftop rang out and the man slumped dead onto the ground.

"Arthur," Lucia grinned in relief and ran out into the open, gesturing up with a wave of her hands that it was her.

Johnny Dogs, perched on the rooftop beside Arthur, waved back. Arriving beside Tommy's car, Lucia stuck a hand into her brassiere to fish for the keys. Her heart sank when she only felt the knife. There wasn't enough time to retrace her steps. The key could have fallen along the staircase or the hallway or in the mud and trampled under her weight. There wasn't enough time to find out which it was. She scanned the ground for anything heavy enough to break the window. With no luck, she took a few steps back, aimed, and fired a round through the laminated glass. It shattered out like a series of overlaid cobwebs. Lucia put another shot through, braced her fist against her chest and broke through the fractured glass using her elbow. A searing pain went down her arm as she reached into the sharp glass in to unlock the door.

Hauling the Thompson gun into her free arm first, Lucia snatched out the fifty round drum and clicked it in place. She struggled with balancing the weapon between her arms though it weighed a little under fifteen pounds. It was only halfway up her walk toward the building did Lucia notice the reason for her struggling; shards of glass poked out from her elbow, deep scratches down her forearm, and a ugly splotch of blood already stained the side of her pretty green dress. Wherever he was in the world, Lucia said a quick apology out loud to Mariano Fortuny for ruining his beautiful design.

A sharp whistle pealed out from around the back of the building. It was Tommy's signal. Lucia, unable to feel the cold mud under her feet, took off towards the sound. If Tommy hadn't caught her by the waist as she rounded a corner, she surely would have fallen back on the ground and sent a spray of bullets up to him. Tommy yanked the gun from her hands, pushed her out of sight behind a tower of barrels and boxes, and showered a round of bullets just where Luca and his last two men stood behind a wall and dropped back down beside Lucia. With a pained yelp, another one of Luca's men caught the bullet and collapsed. It was two against two now.

Luca fired into the tower of boxes and crates in vain, his drum of ammunition completely empty, he threw his weapon to the ground and stepped forward, seething with anger, "I know you own all the cops in this fucking town! But you'll be dead before they get here."

Tommy lunged up to his feet.

"Tommy, don't!" Lucia tried and failed to grab onto his coat before he stood to face Luca head on.

A dull quiet settled in the dirty, trashed alleyway. Lucia looked up toward the rooftops to see the corners of sleeves and the glint of rifle barrels advance. The crate closest to her was filled with paint cans, opened and easily combustible. If she assumed correct, Arthur and Johnny Dogs were lighting Molotov cocktails and were getting ready to drop it down between them and Luca. There was no chance to warn them otherwise. All she could do was count down from five.

Four.

Several arms extended out over the rooftops with lit bottles in their hands.

Two.

The fall.

One.

Impact.

Lucia sprung out from behind the boxes, grabbed the back of Tommy's collar and yanked him to the ground just as two shots rang out. Several splashes of flames went up, separating the Shelby's from the Changretta's, licking at the boxes and wooden crates Lucia had been hiding behind. From above, several shots were fired down on Luca and he quickly retreated back, past the tenements, leaving behind his fallen men.

Rolling out from under Tommy, covered on one side with mud from her black hair to the heels of her feet, Lucia tried her best to pull him upright and make a run for shelter, but the fiery petrol and oil concoction spread through the barrels, the boxes, and licked at the paint too quickly for Lucia and Tommy to take cover behind the car first. The crate of paints caught light and an ear-splitting bang threw them both several meters forward, beating down splinters of wood and rocks and metal down behind them - turning into black flumes rising towards the gray skies.

When Lucia managed to raise her chin from the ground it felt like she had been punched in the back of the head with a large fist. Her eyes ached and her body too. On the bright side, she thought, she couldn't feel the pain in her elbow or the numbness below her ankles. Lucia turned her head to look for Tommy but he had already crawled toward her, relief replacing the terror in his eyes. He pulled her into his lap and held on tight, rocking back and forth to ease the fear that had caught hold of him.

"I thought I lost you." He wiped the streaks of mud from her cheek and pressed his forehead to hers.

From around the corner, Arthur and Johnny Dogs ran forward and pulled Tommy and Lucia to their feet. "The coppers are coming. We gotta go!"

"I lost the keys." Lucia struggled to say but, with a small smile, Tommy held up the keys she had dropped in the hall.

Clamoring into the vehicle with Johnny behind the wheel, Tommy beside him, and Arthur supporting Lucia in the back, they sped back down to Small Heath. Blasting into the ambush had bought them a few weeks while Luca reorganized. That would give the Blinders enough time to establish their business in America and strangle Luca's supply source in New York. Tommy twisted around. Lucia was slumped against Arthur's shoulder, fighting off fatigue from the blast.

Arthur pressed a kiss to her temple and nodded assuredly at his brother. "She's alright."

" _Consigliere_ of mine." Tommy was hungry for another victory. He waited until his wife raised her heavy head. "What's next?"

* * *

 **AN:** Terms, Phrases & People:

 _pezzonovantes_ : This translated directly to "0.90 caliber." It's used to mean big shot or someone with a lot of influence.

 _make your bones_ : To achieve status and respect. It's originally an American English term so not historically accurate to mid-1920s Birmingham, but it's a nod to _The Godfather_ by Mario Puzo which I've used as reference material.

 _Vafangool_ : The Sicilian form of the Italian _vaffanculo_ or "fuck you/off". This phrase was used in the 1972 film _The Godfather_. It was delivered brilliantly by Talia Shire who played Connie Corleone.

 _Mariano Fortuny_ was a real fashion designer with his own couture house in the early 1900s. The gowns he designed are really gorgeous and were even displayed at The Met at one point. (I'm glad this is all just fiction because if Tommy really look a knife to couture I would strangle him.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preview for Chapter 16 | I'm Glad It's You
> 
> "I want a tattoo," she slurred. "Just like yours."
> 
> "What?" Tommy laughed. "Why?"
> 
> "Because Polly said I've made my bones. After...how long in this family?" She tried tallying the years on her fingertips but quickly lost count. "How old am I? How old are you? What year is it? We're so old. Half our life gone already. That is why I want a tattoo."


End file.
